even a flightless bird has its uses
by notantihero
Summary: Anna steps forward. "Instead of executing her, may I offer a better solution?" The cuffs restraining Elsa's wrists clinks loudly as Anna grabs a hold of her hand. "Give her to me. I'll make use of her as it befits our kingdom. This I can promise you, father." AU; Elsanna
1. flightless

For many death comes in the form of myth: a tall, hooded skeletal figure wielding a scythe. It's a safe enough belief, the sort of intangible monster that mothers scare their children with during moments of misbehaviour.

Anna's death is anything but mythical, safe or intangible. Not when she's staring at them straight in the face: this tall, pale woman with her familiar charging straight at Anna. They say your life flashes back in near death, shows you the highlight of your memories from the beginning to the end. She wishes it's the case – because even remembering is an action better than the utter helplessness of her situation.

Her life doesn't flash before her eyes, but time does slow into a crawl, a mere fraction of its speed. She stares at charging bear, fifty paces away. Forty. Notices the sheen of its fur against the sunlight, the absurdity of its size. Its gaping, open maw with its teeth bared, each as long as Anna's fingers.

She's not going to survive this.

Thirty.

The pounding in her head intensifies. The pain blurs her vision but still, she tries to move her leg. Tries and fails again, because it's caught, pinned underneath the massive bulk of a fallen enemy soldier. If only she has her sword, she thinks. Moot, because her sword's buried hilt deep in that corpse of a man who's proven to be her undoing, even in his death. She wants to scream. Even after all this, even after everything she's gone through she's just a _woman_ in the end, too weak to even move this body, too weak to even pull her sword off flesh. At least with it in hand she can face this beast, die like a warrior instead of a helpless woman. Moot.

Twenty.

So close she imagines she can feel its icy breath, feel its teeth tear the skin on her neck. It must be a moment of sheer desperation, but she stops staring at it, looks at the woman instead.

Their eyes meet.

"Help me," she says, even as she knows the woman can't hear her, not with this distance and this clamour of metal against metal and the roars of beasts made of ice. Not that this woman will, when she's one of the soldiers whose sole purpose is to eradicate this woman's existence.

Ten.

And even then, when death is but an arm's length away, she can't stop staring at the woman. She hates herself then, for finding this weapon (hands stained with the blood of so many of her countrymen) so goddamned _beautiful._

She can feel the ground reverberating against her skin, the thud thud thud of the bear's massive paws like battle drums in her ears.

Still, Anna doesn't tear her gaze away.

Five.

Her body stiffens, preparing itself for the coming end. She prepares herself and yet—

And yet death never comes.

The woman opens her mouth and closes it again, and the bear stops mid-charge, forelegs raised, rearing up in the air. So close Anna simply has to reach forward to touch the edges of its long claws. There's no skidding halt, no loss of momentum in its cessation of motion; it simply _stops_, one moment moving, the next not. As if it has never moved at all, as if it's just a lovingly made ice sculpture a madman has sculpted in the middle of the battlefield.

The woman says something, eyes boring into Anna's. It's too loud and too far to hear, but Anna doesn't need to. It's a word she's heard since the day of her birth, all throughout her life. It's a word she's memorised the forming of lips, the movement of the mouth to.

"Anna," the woman says.

_Anna._

And before Anna can say anything – can even wonder how the woman knows her name, the bear springs back into life, sending shards of ice showering around her as gravity brings its legs crashing back onto the ground. Just as sudden, it then banks sharply to the right, careening straight against one of her men, tearing his sword-wielding arm off on the elbow with the ease of a warrior handling a toy sword.

"_Robert!_" She calls out the man's name. Futilely. It's just one of the many names she's called out today. Most of them no longer belonging to anything alive.

The bear tosses the arm to the side – as if it's just a minor annoyance – before propelling itself on its muscular hind legs again, searching for the next target.

It's not the only beast in the field. There are a dozen more: wolves, bears, tigers, golems. All slaughtering her people with an unnatural grace, even when the humans are skidding and stumbling on frozen water and sand, an unnatural habitat for their warm climate.

This can't go on any longer. They simply can't take the losses, and believe it when Anna says that every single loss digs deep into her heart.

Another man loses a limb and panic sets in. She needs to move. _Move._ Move and somehow end this. There's nothing a lone woman like her can do to change the tide of battle, not when she's up against something so out of this world with a power so incomprehensible to the human mind. But still, she needs to try.

So she tries. Tries with all her might to drag her leg beneath the man's body. Using a broken spear shaft as fulcrum against her thigh, she surveys her surroundings, in case men or beast decides to take advantage of her immobility. None are: each side too preoccupied with eliminating the able bodied to pay her any attention. The woman is nowhere to be seen. Thank god she's still wearing her helmet, obscuring any recognisable facial features.

She pushes the end of the shaft again. Harder. Harder. And finally, the body bulges, lifting just enough that she's able to slowly slide her leg out. Her boot snags against the man's breastplate strap and she swallows a scream, pain once again flaring deep inside her ankle. Broken. Her mind is screaming at her to stop, but she can't. Time isn't in her hands. So she pulls and pulls, and eventually her leg comes out free.

She allows herself only a few moments to catch her breath, before reaching forward again, this time to free her sword. Her hand has barely reached the hilt when she feels something thin and cold press against the skin above her jugular vein.

She freezes.

Looks down and sideways. Sees a blade so sharp, so thin it's almost invisible. Ice. She looks up, and for the second time that day, meets the woman's eyes.

Someone calls her name. One of her knights is charging at them – sword raised, no doubt to save her from this woman. The first beginnings of his name escapes her lips, but before the warning to just _get away, don't throw your life for me_ can be vocalised, the woman sweeps her hand, almost lazily, and an circular array of spikes burst from the ground, encasing him in an icy cage. One of the spikes is so close to his throat Anna can see a trickle of blood forming.

He looks at her, helpless.

"Don't worry. I won't kill him," the woman says. Her accent is thick and foreign, her voice stilted, rusty, as if she isn't used to speech. "Look to your left. Near the ships. The man with the yellow plume." Not having any choice, Anna does, slowly turning her head as not to nick herself on the blade, eyes roaming in the distance until she spots the man she assumes is the one the woman wants her to see. He doesn't seem to notice them, distracted by a conversation with another knight. The commander, she assumes. "He controls me. Kill him and you'll win this battle."

Her master. Anna knows what that means.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Because you have no other choice," the woman says. Calm.

Anna doesn't know why, but she finds herself believing her. It's easy for her to kill Anna, after all. Have had more than enough chances to in fact. The fact that Anna is still alive speaks volumes. And it's true: there's no other choice.

Anna holds the woman's gaze for a few more heartbeats, then says, "all right. You'll have to let Jan there go though. He's my commanding officer."

The woman obliges, the spikes holding Jan in place dissolving into a flurry of snow. At once he breaks into a run, continuing his trajectory, straight at them.

"I will need to stop him," the woman says.

"As long as you don't do him any hurt."

She nods. Jan is a scant few paces away when the blade leaves Anna's neck. Lightning fast, the woman twirls it in her hand and sweeps low, striking him right at the shin with the pommel, sending him tumbling down next to Anna.

"You goddamned—"

Anna interrupts him before he can launch into one of his famous litany of curses, fearing that he will once again rise and try to strike the woman, fearing that the woman's temper might be as fierce as her powers. "_Jan_," she says, putting enough force behind that single word that he immediately clamps his mouth shut. "Listen to me. She means me no harm, do you understand that?"

"But Princess—" He tries to rise, but the woman drives a foot against his back, forcing him and his words back down.

"Don't interrupt me. There's a knight with a yellow plume standing by the ships. Do you see him?" He follows her gaze, but not before shooting the woman a death glare first. "Do you?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Now can you explain why I shouldn't kill this monster here? Or why you're conversing together like two old women having bloody lunch over high tea? No offense to you, strange killer lady — I'm sure your cold blooded murder of my comrades is just a harmless mistake and all."

The woman doesn't give any indication of acknowledging his words. Such as smart ass as always. It's like he doesn't have a filter, or any understanding that the woman's the one who's dictating everything here. Not Anna, and certainly not him. She supposes that's why he's one of her favourites.

"First: you're in no position to kill anyone right now, let alone her. Second: he's her master, all right? Kill him and—and—" And what? She furrows her brows, unable to find any discernible motive behind the woman's actions. She turns her attention back towards the woman. "And then what? Why are you telling us this?"

"Because I despise what I am doing as much as you despise losing your men. You must tell him what to do now. Time is running out; I _will_ be forced to kill you both if my absence is noticed. Please."

Please. The metal collar on the woman's neck glints, and Anna understands. Against all logical reason, she understand.

"Jan," she says, this time much more urgently. "Relay this to the men: focus their attacks on that man. Ignore everything else. Kill him."

"But—"

"_Kill him._"

After what seems like an eternity, the insubordination flees from his eyes and he nods.

The woman lifts her foot and he scampers off at once, skidding and slipping over ice. Still in motion, he takes the warhorn strapped to his belt and blew. The sound pierces the air: shrill and loud, and she sees all of her men who are still able-bodied and otherwise not engaged in melee combat congregate around him, following his stride as they rush towards the ships.

She can see the surprise from the knight's frantic gestures, motioning at his men, at the archers on the ships to reload. Several of the woman's golems are following Jan's entourage too, but she notices they're only making half-hearted grabs and swats, and the bulk of their bodies serving more to protect her men from incoming arrows than to harm them.

"If you will excuse me, I have a part to play," the woman says, and then she's off, gliding through the ice as if she's born on it, straight at Jan's men.

She picks on a few stragglers but doesn't use her powers, choosing to simply engage them in melee. Her animal familiars too, are nowhere to be seen. It's clear what she's doing: going through all the motions of protecting her master with no heart behind them.

**-X-X-X-X-X-**

Soon enough, it's over.

As soon as the knight's head touches the ground, the woman stops playing her part. Once again her beasts spring forward from ice, many more than before. This time their ferocity is targeted at the enemy. Limbs and heads and chunks of flesh are torn, but not from her men.

A wolf comes straight at her, then leaps overhead — briefly obscuring the sun — before landing and running again, going after a fleeing soldier. She hears a crunch and a scream stopped short but doesn't look, focused only on the woman. They all are, silently watching the carnage, the woman with the disbelief and relief that comes from not being at the receiving end of such monstrous powers. None of them makes any attempt to harm the woman even as she walks by them, close enough draw a sword upon, and bends down, picking something off the knight's body.

"Bloody hell," Jan says, squatting besides Anna having rushed back immediately after. "I thought she was terrifying before, but this is another level entirely. They should name nightmares after her. Silence crying babies and all."

"Yeah well, I don't think she even tried then. Mind helping me up?"

Grabbing her outstretched arm, he hefts her up as they rise together. Using the spear shaft and his shoulder as support, she finally stabilises her gait and starts limping forward, inexplicably dragging him alongside her.

"By the way, just in case you haven't noticed, Princess, we're walking straight towards the jaws of the beast herself. Are you sure this is a good idea? Did you hit your head on something, perhaps?"

"Only against my helmet. I think I'll tell Janus to add some padding inside. That crap hurts," she says without breaking her limping.

"We should kill her. Give me the word and I'll have my men strike her down."

She looks at him. "Gee, kill the woman who had single-handedly annihilated the enemy force? _Brilliant_ idea, Jan."

"Just a suggestion. A _very_ brilliant suggestion, if I may add. We can't simply let her walk away. What if she decides to slaughter _our_ troops next now that she's finished with them? What then?"

There's truth in his words. They can't. Not after all that's happened.

She shrugs. "Then we try our best to retaliate and hope she slips on ice and cracks her head open. For now, we'll see what she wants. It's not a good idea to goad her into action by being rash. We might win, or we might just sign an early death warrant. You with me? Because I'd rather limp alone than have you tag along only to have you try stabbing her to death."

"Your wish is my command, Princess," he says dryly.

"Good man."

She spots the woman walking towards them and they meet halfway in between, in the middle of the frozen sea and the aftermaths of a bloody war. The woman stops a safe distance away and Anna breaks off from Jan, putting both of her hands on top of the shaft as her only support.

She addresses him. "Bring the dead and wounded back. I don't want you to differentiate between them and us – their wounded will be treated the same as ours, no exceptions, yes?"

"As you wish, Your Highness," he says. He throws the woman a look, but doesn't bother saying anything else. They both know nothing can out do Anna's stubbornness, and set in her ways she is. He turns away to join the men in post-battle triage, most of them already ignoring the few remaining enemy soldiers left. They've won, and there's no sense in letting any more lives taken.

Right. On to the next step.

"Do you mind dissolving uh, your creatures? I think we've done enough to assure victory, so there's really no need anymore. Not the sea though, since we're still standing on it and I'd hate to drown with armour on," she asks the woman cautiously, still unsure of exactly how to approach this woman standing in front of her. A snap of the woman's fingers and it's done, the various creatures rendered back into snow flurries and then none, as if they never existed. "Thanks. That's a very… convenient power to have. What's your name?"

There's hesitation in the woman's expression, her mouth parting wordlessly. But then it passes and she says, "Elsa."

Elsa. Elsa. Anna repeats it her head, feeling her way through each syllables. "Elsa," she says, pleased at how the word rolls off her tongue. "It's a very pretty name. My name's Anna, by the way. The Princess of the kingdom that you just… well, tried to invade. Nice to meet you." She wants to ask Elsa if she had really said Anna's name then, but it's not the proper place for chit-chat. Jan's right: conversing like they're having tea together is rock-bottom in her list of priorities. Right now she needs to decide what to do with Elsa. "So, pleasantries aside, I think I have an idea why you've – well, betrayed your… master." Master. It seems like such a dirty word. But she supposes that's the only way to describe it. She's heard stories about Elsa, accounts on her effectiveness as a weapon of war. Heard enough to know why Elsa did what she did. "You wished to stop serving under him, yes?"

"Correct," Elsa says.

"Okay. So what are you going to do now? You're free from him, and we all know better than to try to stop you from fleeing." Her eyes travel down from Elsa's face to her neck, eyeing the collar. She hates the thing already; it seems like such a perverse way to gain control of someone. If she can, she would've yanked that thing off Elsa in a moment's notice. But well, the stories have told her enough for her to know that she can't.

"And should I flee, Your Highness, where will I go?" Elsa's smile is small: faint and sad.

Anna shifts on her good foot, uneasy. "Anywhere? You understand that you'll have to stand trial if you stay right? And after all you've done… I don't think they'll rule favourably. I mean you can always freeze us and escape, I suppose. But that defeats the entire purpose of not going now, really."

"I think I have finally found a reason to stay. You may subjugate and send me to trial – that is entirely your prerogative."

Suspicion flares, and Anna narrows her eyes. "A reason? What reason? Because if it's just a ploy to free yourself, assassinate my father and take over internally, I swear…"

Elsa's smile transforms into some akin to amusement: her lips curling lopsidedly. "And what do you suppose is stopping me from simply storming your small, pathetic castle right now? It seems less of a waste of time than conversing with you here, trying to convince you to bring me in. Why be subtle when I can be anything but?"

"My castle is _not_ pathetic. _Or _small."

"I've seen bigger."

Oh wow. Talk about double entendre. Why, indeed. It makes sense, no matter how much Anna prefers it not to. "You still haven't told me the reason why."

"Does it matter?"

"It does."

"There is no ill will aimed at your family, that's all I can say. So this is what I propose: use me."

Anna's jaw hangs open. Did she just hear that right? This woman, this weapon whom many a kingdom will pay their weight in gold for – did she just offer her allegiance to _Anna's_ kingdom? A kingdom so small, so unimportant it doesn't even warrant a mention in most maps?

"Oh, you must be joking," she says.

"I am not," Elsa says. She takes Anna's hand, palm upturned, and drops something into it. Anna looks down. A bracelet. The twin to Elsa's collar. "A token of goodwill, and I hope this is enough to gain your trust. Offer me to whomever you will. I trust you've heard enough the stories to know what this signifies."

Of course Anna has. Which is precisely why her next words come as thus: "are you crazy."

"That man – Jan, is it?" Elsa continues, as if she hasn't heard Anna. "He seems like a decent enough man. Although I must warn you that it's a bond that lasts a lifetime: until one or both of us perishes. Choose my owner wisely."

"Oh hell no. Heeeell no." Anna instinctively takes a step back and immediately regrets it, the pain she's forgotten existed flaring back with vengeance. She loses her footing and nearly falls, but thankfully Elsa's grabbed her arm, steadying her as she regains her balance.

She looks up, wanting to offer her gratitude when she catches the shadows of motion in her peripheral vision. Loyal to a fault, the men who have noticed the physical contact are standing stiffly, watching the minutest details of Elsa's every single move, in case she tries to harm Anna. Some of them have drawn their weapons. It's a dangerous situation, more so for them than Elsa. Trying her best to diffuse the situation, she puts on her brightest grin and waves, signifying that she's all right and under no duress. At all.

It seems to have worked, because they've sheathed their weapons and resume their triage. A few still stands around, casting her and Elsa a wary look, but that's better than nothing. Definitely loyal to a fault.

Elsa lets go of her arm, and she can't help but notice that Elsa's touch is warm: a polar opposite of her powers. An interesting contrast.

"Okay. Fine. But I won't gi—offer your… allegiance to anyone. Not if I can help it. Let me ask you this, then: if they were to decide it's in our best interest to execute you, what then?"

There's no discernible expression when Elsa answers: "then it will be a fitting end for someone like me, do you not agree?"

There's nothing Anna can say to that, so she doesn't. Instead she motions for one of the men milling about, gesturing for him to come. He breaks into a careful jog, trying not to slip on the ice. Once he reaches them she casts a glance at Elsa and says, "bring me a pair of cuffs, will you?"

His eyebrows rise, understanding the implication. But unlike the loud mouth called Jan, he keeps his silence, simply asks if it's the ball and chains she wants.

"Just cuffs."

When his back is turned and he's a respectable distance away, Anna says to Elsa, "you understand that I have to restrain you, right? It's useless, but it'll provide some sort of security blanket for them. I hope you don't mind."

Elsa simply taps on her collar.

Again, Anna doesn't have a suitable reply to that. So they stand in silence, waiting for the cuffs to arrive. It finally does, and she tells him to put it on and lead Elsa back to the castle, to stand trial.

As her right wrist is being cuffed, Elsa catches Anna's gaze and asks the oddest question Anna's ever heard. "Do you have a sister?"

"Uh, no, no I don't. I'm the only child."

"If you did, she would have loved you very much, I think."

An odd, odd question. But before Anna can ask for clarification, Elsa's already walked away, following him docilely like they're the one who has power over her instead of her over them.

The bracelet feels heavy in Anna's hand, like dead weight.


	2. shackles

**2.**

Anna slumps down in her throne; legs outstretched, cheek resting on her palm.

This is getting ridiculous.

Glancing to her left, she sees that her parents are still listening to the arguments and counter-arguments by the various nobles and officers, all of them outlining the same things, over and over again. One of such arguments happening right at the foot of the dais. A Marquis and an Earl.

"She should be executed. God knows what a beast like that can do if we let her run amok! It will certainly spell the destruction of this kingdom!"

"Fools. To even contemplate such sacrilege! Do you not wonder what powers and riches that thing could bring us? There will be no more need for the fear of shrinking borders, in fact, we will _expand. _If I had my say—"

Before the Marquis and Earl can tear each other apart, one of the visiting Countesses slides between them, interjecting the Marquis's babble.

"And you are saying that we should give her to you? Only a monkey is blind to your ambitions. You think of yourself as subtle, but really, we can all see through your thin treachery, my dear Marquis."

The Marquis crosses his arms, harrumphs. "Meddlesome words from a foreigner."

"And does it not say enough that even a foreigner such as I are able to see through your ploy?"

The Marquis's cheeks turn a pale shade of red, his fists clenched tight and Anna is afraid he might hit her, spurring an international incident. Thankfully he doesn't, merely walks away to join another group of arguing nobles. Even then, Anna can see that his back is still stiff, like he's walking with a rod jammed up, well – up his backside, to put it politely.

Anna decides that she needs to find his name out and have a talk about him with her father. Not that it'll do anything besides adding his name to an already long list of names. She's lucky she's not yet a Queen – being a ruler seems like a mighty hard job. Aggressively expanding your borders? You're a bloodthirsty King who cares more for power than your own folks. Choosing the peaceful route like her father does? Well, now you're just the cowardly King brining down your kingdom with you because you're too afraid to do anything.

You just can't win sometimes.

She sighs, then notices that the Countess is looking at her. Anna offers a thankful smile, and the Countess simply curtsies before she too goes off to mingle. Nice woman.

Watching the Countess's retreat, she feels a hand on her forearm.

"What do you think, Anna?" her mother asks, leaning slightly across her armrest, head bowed near Anna's. "Do you think it'll go in her favour?"

By her, she means Elsa of course.

Another sigh from Anna. "Judging from the various conversations I can hear? Not really."

"And you're unhappy about that. You seem quite attached to her already. Why is that?"

"I dunno. Just seems like she's not that bad of a person, y'know? It's not like she did it because she wants to – I mean, with the collar and all. What about you, mama? What do you think?"

Cecile seems to mull for a moment. "I think you're right. Your father thinks so too, I know that for a fact. Still, you understand that his hands are tied – there's nothing he can do once the votes come in. We'll have to follow the majority's wishes."

"Not if I can help it."

It's odd that Anna feels so protective against someone she barely knows – even odder if she considers the fact that Elsa was, is still the enemy, having killed more than a dozen of Anna's men and maimed countless others. Nearly killed Anna herself, even. But then again, Elsa had also been their saviour; without her intervention – hell, even without her on their side there's slim chance they would've won, if at all. Their armies are simply too small. The bane of being a peaceful nation more focused on fishing as a past time than anything else.

"Like I said, Anna, mine and his hands are tied. But yours? Not so much."

Ah.

Playing dumb, Anna furrows her brows. "What do you mean by that? Stop being cryptic, mama. I'm not smart enough for that. My head hurts already."

Cecile chuckles under her breath, only loud enough for Anna to hear. "Now now, we all know you're terribly smart, and no obfuscation will convince me otherwise. No, you know exactly what I'm implying, and I know exactly what you're planning. Now just be a good girl and prepare to give Elias a heart attack."

"I'd rather not, though."

"I know."

And with that, Cecile leans away, back to sitting primly besides her husband, hands folded on her lap. She watches as the steward approaches her parents' throne, bows, and offers them a single envelope. Her father opens the envelope, sighs, and clears his throat.

Voice ringing loud with authority he says:"the votes have been cast and tallied. Forty-two against twenty-six, in favour of execution."

Anna looks away.

Of course.

**-X-X-X-X-X-**

The doors to the grand hall open and Elsa is led in, flanked by two men each on her side and another two behind her, footsteps matching each of her own. The sea of humans parts as she approaches, congregating at into two equal groups at each side of the hall. Anna can read suspicion, wariness, terror, and for some (the young and bold) even amusement.

But regardless of the emotion, each pair of eyes are inevitably drawn towards Elsa; following and analysing her every move like a crowd gathered around a majestic beast subdued by the chains on her hands. Subdued and docile but never tamed.

Gone are the icy blue dress and the braid with the wind-swept bangs. She looked like any other prisoner then: hair flowing down freely; dressed in a drab brown prisoner's garment made of coarse linen; haggard, like she hadn't eaten much at all for the past few days she'd spent in her cell. Despite that, she has her head held high, proud and regal yet without the slightest hint of defiance. Like she's used to being at the abject mercy of whimsical nobles, or like she's used to ruling over them.

Her mother's touch settles briefly on Anna's arm and she stops the unconscious tugging of her braid. She desperately wants to catch Elsa's attention – offer her an encouraging smile, tell her that everything will be all right – but Elsa's gaze is focused only straight ahead, right at the King.

Elias hems and haws, stroking his dark beard as he appears to find the right words to say, and Anna wonders if there's any right word to say at all when you're telling someone you're sending that person to certain death. Cecile whispers something into his ears that sounds like reassurance.

Anna takes the cue to rise from her throne, step down the dais and walk towards Elsa, slow and steady. Ignoring the cacophony of whispers and the wary glance Elias gives her, she takes her place at Elsa's side, her guards having backed away to give Anna space. Again, Elsa doesn't acknowledge her presence, simply stares ahead. She's either smitten by Elias or finds his beard fascinating or is appreciating the nice whiteness on the wall behind the throne.

"You take after your mother," Elsa says without looking.

"Yeah; it'd be quite scary if I took after my father – I don't think beards would look particularly good on me." A pause. "Are you ready?"

"Always."

"I won't let anything happen to you," Anna says, meaning every single word.

No reply comes, so Anna lifts her arm, smiles at her parents and waves. It's a signal that signifies that no, she hasn't gone completely crazy as to stand so close to the beast, and that Elias should start because she wants to get this over with as much as he does.

Still stroking his beard, it seems like he's torn between wanting to tell Anna to stop this blasphemy and get back to your throne right _now,_ and just proceeding with the blasted thing; wayward daughters be damned. Thankfully he chooses the latter. Well, her stubbornness is legendary, after all.

Sighing deeply, Elias leans forward, resting his forearm on his knee. "I won't mince words. This decision burdens me heavily but we've – the majority has concluded that you're too much of a threat to let free. Do you understand this, Lady Elsa?"

"Yes," Elsa says. As if Elias has said gee, nice weather today huh? and she's merely agreeing for the sake of polite conversation.

"Do you have any last words? A plea for your case, perhaps? Anything at all?"

There's a hint of muted desperation in his voice. He doesn't want to do this as much as Anna doesn't want to do what she'll be forced to, if Elsa continues this charade of a dog showing her belly to placate an overzealous master. It's a goddamned charade and Anna knows that. There's no way such obedience would come naturally for a woman powerful enough to level a kingdom should she so desire. It's heresy; it goes against the natural order of the world.

"I do not, Your Majesty."

Oh bloody hell. Seriously? _Seriously?_ Elsa is playing such a convincing martyr she ought to be named a saint posthumously. Because that's the only way this entire thing will go if she won't stop being the helpless damsel in distress. Or if Anna doesn't step up.

Elias's brows furrowed. "Are you quite sure? You _do_ have the permission to speak freely."

"I am, Your Majesty," Elsa says.

Anna suppresses the urge to elbow her in the ribs. Her desperation goes from the muted ring of a bell far away to the full blast of a warhorn's blare. She wishes it hasn't come to this, but of course she knows from the beginning that this is exactly how it'll go. Elsa seems too eager to earn her sainthood and her father too eager to placate the court.

It rests squarely on Anna's shoulders now, and the very idea of the next thing she'll be forced to do repulses her.

"…if you insist. Following the rule of the majority I hereby declare—"

"Father, if I may interject?"

"Anna this isn't the time—"

Regardless, Anna steps forward, once again cutting his words short. "Instead of executing her, may I offer a solution?" The chains restraining Elsa's wrists rattle as Anna grabs a hold of her hand. "Give her to me and I'll make use of her. This I can promise you, father."

At once the cacophony of whispers come back with vengeance, and Anna hears snatches of muted words ranging from "blasphemy!" to "has she gone mad?" to "how unexpected" to "interesting, quite. Bold move". None of them matter. The only thing that matters is how she'd finally gotten a reaction out of Elsa.

"Anna…" Elsa says under her breath – full of warning – and Anna receives the full brunt of the steel in her gaze. Not so toothless after all. "_Don't._"

Oh, but Anna will.

"And what might you mean by that? Please do elaborate." This time it's Cecile's turn to take the reins from her husband, a hand on his to placate whatever words of outrage Elias wants to hurl at Anna's outrageous request.

He's finally catching on, several steps behind Cecile. A sly Queen does her mother make – a perfect match for her father's genteel, trusting nature.

"I mean what I said," Anna says, and she sees a gleam of knowing amusement in her mother's eyes. "Make me her master and I'll bring Corona back to its former glory, as we once were." Elias starts to look purple, and the whispers and murmurs have risen to the full din of conversation. With their attention trained solely at her, she takes the chance, passing her gaze through the crowd, maintaining eye contact with as many of them as possible. "I know I speak for many, if not most of us when I say we're dissatisfied with the current state of our kingdom. We used to be grand, but what are we now? Too small to note in maps, too weak to fend of invasion. Year after year our borders grow smaller and why? Because we're too feeble to retaliate – too used to peace to prepare. Do you not agree?"

Her words are tampered, carefully filtered as not to have anything accusatory behind them, devoid of any insinuation that Corona's impending downfall is her father's machination, because it isn't. It really isn't. It's just like the steady roll of a snowball down the hill – by the time they'd realised what happened it was already too late.

She feels that her words are safe enough, but she knows that if she weren't the Princess, she would have been dragged out and maybe sent into a brief stint in the dungeons, free to count each individual stone slabs until she's let out with scarcely a slap to the wrist. Elias is much too decent of a King.

"So we use her as our weapon, is that what you want?" His knuckles are white underneath Cecile's touch.

"Why not? We know she's bound to the whims of her master—" the word still tastes vile in Anna's mouth, and she wonders if Elsa cares at all, but a quick glance at the woman suggested she doesn't, unreadable as always but for the slight clenching of her jaws "—and if she really is truly dangerous, she would've murdered each one of us by now instead of standing here listening to us babble amongst ourselves when really, we're the ones at her mercy. If that doesn't prove her goodwill, then I don't know what will."

She sees the beginnings of the ripple of agreement in the crowd, as if they hadn't considered it before. Too blinded by their fears for an objective view. She doesn't blame them; she would be too, if not for that brief interaction with Elsa. Somehow that's enough. Elsa's hand is warm against hers. She's not letting go just yet.

"No," Elias says.

Of course it won't be that easy.

She lets out an internal sigh. Much like marriage, she'd prefer to do this with the blessing of her parents. "And the reason behind your refusal?"

Unlike hers, Elias's sigh is anything but internal. "Because as much as I loathe the idea of a death sentence for crimes not willingly committed, I would rather have blood on my hands than allow you to enter into a contract with this crea—_her_. There's a reason why she's standing her and not her masters; none of them died of old age and I won't let you – _any _of my subjects become another one of her victims."

By the end of the speech his voice has risen, and Anna knows anger has started to get a hold of him, much like it does to her because goddamned it why is he being so bullheaded? Even if it's just a father's desire to protect his daughter, over-protectiveness does have its limits.

"I'm sure it's through no fault of her own," Anna says.

"Then what of the knight she had turned against? Is that also no fault of hers?"

"If she hadn't done that we wouldn't be here squabbling, father. I know you don't trust her, but can you give her credit for saving us, at least?

Through considerable effort she manages to keep her voice level, even as she hopes Elsa will say something, anything to defend herself against the accusation. There _must_ be a reason why she'd turned against the knight, Anna is sure of it. If only she'd put as much effort in speaking as she is in maintaining that carefully blank look.

Anna squeeze Elsa's hand tight, says under her breath, "it'll help greatly if you say something, y'know? I'm kinda fighting a losing battle here?"

Nothing.

_Fine_. Be that way. Everyone's so stubborn these days, what's wrong with them?

She glances through the faces in the crowd, trying to find an answer in one of them. Her mind reels, but still she finds none; they're merely staring at her, waiting for her next rebuttal. But nothing comes and she realises she's running on fumes. There's always the alternative of simply offering Elsa to someone else, but that opens its own can of worms. There's no one she trusts enough to wield something like Elsa – Jan, perhaps, but she has a feeling he'll just use her to create hailstorms at will. Jan's father? But he's retired, and Elsa will just be another decoration above his mantelpiece. _Her _father? Right. That will go so well with her mother.

Crap.

She's run full sprint at the start of a race, and now she's spent before even seeing the finish line.

"Are you quite finished, Anna? Or do you have more to say?"

How polite of her father to ask, even when he knows she doesn't. "Uh…"

"If I may, Your Majesties; Your Highness."

A man breaks free from the crowd, the click clack of his cane loud against the silence as he stops half a dozen paces away from the dais. Despite his limp and the greying hair, there's still enough bulk left, enough authority that even the King can't simply dismiss him.

Lord Gervais, Jan's father.

One of the best people ever to grace this world, in Anna's opinion, right up there with her parents.

"Not you too, Lord Gervais." And if Elias isn't such a King, Anna is sure he will have rolled his eyes. "Please don't tell me you also support my daughter's folly?"

"Elias… at least hear what he has to say. Do speak, Lord Gervais." Cecile.

Gervais bows, then straightens. "My gratitude, Your Majesty. Actually, I just wanted to say that your daughter is brave as she is smart, and you'd do well to listen to her."

Elias quirks an eyebrow, clearly expecting more. "And?"

"And that is all."

Just like that, he turns and limps down the hall, away from the throne and towards the still open doors. He gives Anna a warm smile and pats Elsa on the shoulder as he passes before going though the doorway and turns the corner. Out of sight.

What… was that?

Did he draw all that attention to himself just to say one sentence? So very like him. Quite flattering, though.

"Well then," Anna says. "He's right about me. Perhaps you should listen to him about listening to me?"

Cecile lets out a soft laugh and Elias is reduced to massaging his temple.

"Hardly a convincing argument… and the answer is still no, Anna. Don't make me repeat it thrice. You _are_ my daughter and I do love you dearly, but this is bordering on insolence and I won't take it, even from you."

"Is there nothing I can say to convince you?"

"Nothing. My apologies to you all – my daughter have derailed this court more than long enough. As our agreement goes, Lady Elsa is to be hung tomorrow at dawn. If there are no more objections then this trial is over—"

"Oh but it's not."

"What _now?_"

"This," Anna says. Then takes the bracelet from a pocket in her skirt and holds it up high for the world to see.

Elsa's eyes widen. "No no no Anna _no!_"

She makes a grabbing motion but the chains are too heavy and Anna too fast. By the time her fingers are curled against Anna's wrist, the bracelet is already flush against her other wrist, its metal cold against her skin.

"Too late." She flashes Elsa a wide grin, a violent contrast against the anger flashing through Elsa's face: her teeth barred, her jaws clenched tight. Frost starts to appear, spreading away from her feet, though thankfully no further than a scant few paces away. It's quite a terrifying sight, and Anna is surprised her wrist isn't frozen solid yet. The guards flanking Elsa backs away and several more cowardly nobles have made a hasty exit. But Elsa's anger she'll deal with later. Right now it's Elias she has to placate, because he looks like he's about to have a heart attack.

He's gripping the armrests of his throne, leaning forward stiffly like he's about to jump down and slap some senses into her. Genteel and trusting, but with a temper to match.

"I'm sorry; your forced my hands, father. This is the only way to stop you from killing her."

"If you—" he fumbles, his grip becoming so forceful Anna is afraid the armrests might splinter "—if you think that this silly little trick of yours is going to convince me otherwise then you're _wrong. Guards!_" he roars. "Apprehend the prisoner and send her back to the dungeon and prepare for immediate execution!"

They try. Or at least, one of them try, making a half-hearted sweep at Elsa but immediately backing down when Anna glares him down. "Just try it," she says, more to her father than the guard. "Try it and see what happens. It's a bond of a lifetime, father. What do you think will happen when she dies?"

"_Nothing!"_

"Yes, if you count my death as nothing," Anna says calmly, marveling at what a wonderful liar she's become. "If she dies, I die. That's how the contract works. Right, Elsa?"

A beat passes.

"…yes," Elsa says. Sullen. But at least the frost has disappeared from the floor. So that's a good thing.

"Aaand there you go!"

"You—how dare you—" Elias sputters, his cheeks turning red. "You insolent—"

"You wouldn't want your dearest daughter to die, would you?" Anna flutters her lashes.

"You—you—"

"Go, Anna, before you send him to an early grave. I'll take care of everything from here on," Cecille says, her stern expression almost believable, if Anna hasn't known her so well. It's no secret who's wearing the pants in _that_ relationship.

Flashing her a thankful smile, Anna, well — flees, dragging Elsa behind her, chains and all.

**-X-X-X-X-X-**

By the time they've reached her room, Elsa has broken free of her chains. In fact, the chain is flying mid-air now, both halves of it, flying mid-air and landing right at Anna's favourite vase, shattering it into god knows how many pieces.

She _loved_ that pot. Even named it Joan, after her dead pet turtle.

"Um, before you destroy my room and murder me, can I at least have a word in between?"

"No."

"Oh. Okay then."

Elsa is still advancing, and survival instincts dictates that Anna must get away. But Elsa's blocking the door, so the only way out is through the window. The very high up from the ground window. So like the warrior that she is, Anna stands her ground. Only because two broken legs seem like a poorer alternative to being frozen to death.

"You foolish, _foolish _girl," Elsa says, stopping only after she's close enough Anna can see the faint freckles on her skin. Huh. So even supernaturally pretty people have freckles too. "Why would you do something so stupid? Do you not understand the repercussion behind your actions?!"

Anna gives a little shrug. "What repercussions? You and I are bound together, isn't that all to it?"

"It's _not. _Your father is right; all those who own me have met their demise—"

"Do you mind? Not using the word own? I don't like the connotation behind it."

"And this is why—_god._" Elsa groans with frustration. "This is why I don't want you." Okay. That kinda stings. "You're too naïve. If you can't even hear a word without wincing, how would you face the reality of owning me?"

"Not own," Anna says. "Contracted to. I like that better."

"_Silence_." And Anna immediately clamps her mouth shut. For someone who is by all means still officially a prisoner, commanding people seems to come too easily for her. "With me comes war, Anna. Have you any idea how many will wage war against your small kingdom because they desire my powers? Do you know how _many?"_

"No," Anna says, her gaze level against Elsa's. "But neither did you – seeing as you were the one who offered me the bracelet. Didn't you think of this then?"

"I—"

"Thought so."

Elsa is at loss for words, so Anna takes the chance to guide her by the elbow towards the two armchairs arranged in front of the fireplace. Surprisingly, she doesn't resist. Depositing her on one of them, Anna takes her favourite, hugging a cushion close to her chest.

Elsa gives the bracelet a tired, wary glance. "It's not that the consequences have not crossed my mind before – it's just simply the fact that I did not expect you to take it personally upon yourself. This makes you a prime target, do you understand? Every time they attack it's your life on the line. And all for what?"

"All for saving you from a certain death. It's worth it, even you don't seem to think so, judging by your inaction."

"It's not."

"It is," Anna says, adamant. "And that speech wasn't just crap I pulled out of my ass, you know? I meant it. We _are_ weak. Even without you we'd still be at war – didn't you notice that Corona is caught in the crossfire between three warring nations? We make such a lucrative target because we make such a lucrative buffer against the others. You'd know because well, you were one of them."

Elsa glances away. "I apologise."

"Don't."

Elsa then leans forward, and Anna offers her wrist, somehow knowing exactly what she wants. It seems like she's hypersensitive to Elsa's presence now – like every single heartbeat of Elsa's, every single small movement is registered unconsciously. Like Elsa can go halfway across the continent, or mingle with a crowd of a thousand and Anna can still pinpoint where she is exactly. It's a side-effect of the bracelet Anna supposes, and for some reason it doesn't really bother her much.

"Can I…?"

"Sure."

Elsa's fingers are long and slender, and Anna can feel the softness of her touch when her fingertips inadvertently brush against the skin near the bracelet as she examines it, turning Anna's palm upwards and back down again. The tenderness of her touch surprises Anna, as does the pain that flits through her expression. Why does Elsa care so much for a girl she's only met twice?

"Hey Elsa?"

"Yes."

"Can I call you Elsie?"

Still holding Anna's wrist, Elsa gives her a long, hard stare. "Can I call you Annie?"

"If you want?"

"You may not."

Stingy. But it's not like Anna can say Elsie without bursting into giggles, and well, that's not the thing she wants to ask anyway. "Actually, I was wondering if we'd met before?"

"Why would you think that?"

Elsa's touch lingers a moment too long on the base of her thumb and Anna tries not to laugh from the ticklish sensation. She wishes Elsa won't stop the contact; it's warm and nice and she likes it very much.

"Because you know when we first saw each other? I had my leg pinned underneath a body and your bear was charging at me and I could've sworn you said my name then. Did you?"

There's an odd feeling of loss when Elsa withdraws her hand, and Anna has to resist the temptation to pull her hand back and hold it tight against hers.

"I did," Elsa says.

"How did you know? I was wearing a helmet so I know you wouldn't be able to see my face."

"I just do."

"Um…"

Then she says, "you remind me of someone I knew."

That doesn't make more sense than I just do, but it's better than nothing.

"May I ask who? You don't need to answer it if it's too personal," Anna asks tentatively, afraid to cross any invisible boundaries.

"In time."

Yep; boundaries crossed. Maybe that person is an old friend or an old flame, and Anna thinks she'd much prefer not to know if it's the latter. So she changes topics. "All right, I won't pry, then. So um, what does this bracelet do exactly, anyway? I mean I know about being very aware of y—how does the controlling thing work? You say that whoever wears this controls you, yes? Does that mean I can say whatever and you'll do it?"

"Not quite," Elsa says. She's playing with her collar, turning back and forth on her neck. Gaze unfocused, like she's reliving another moment in her life. "It's not words that control me, but pain."

Pain. That's… not good. Anna has an idea what Elsa means by that, but she needs the confirmation. "What do you mean by that?"

"You can wish me pain anytime you want. It's how you'll keep me in line."

"By pain, how much of a pain are we talking?"

"Very."

That one word speaks volumes. Anna loathes Elsa's old contractors already. "Did they… use that much?"

"The crueller of them do. Like the knight your men killed."

"Sorry – let me just ask again. How much of a pain is that pain? I need to know. I think."

"Why don't you try and find out? My reaction will explain it far better than I can."

Elsa has stopped playing with her collar, resting both of her forearms on the armrests. Despite the coolness of her exterior, there's a slight tremor to her hands, and Anna knows enough.

She shakes her head. "No. That won't be necessary. Will never be necessary. I will never do that to you."

Elsa's smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Quite a few have said those exact words to me. None of them kept their words."

And thank god all of them are dead, because god knows what Anna will do to them if she ever meets them. "But not me. I'm not one of them." The smile stays, and she knows Elsa doesn't believe her. "Fine. You don't believe me and that's okay – I don't blame you. I guess I'll just have to prove my words then. I don't know why, but I know you won't hurt me. So I won't hurt you and that's that."

"That's because I can't."

"Excuse me?"

Once again Elsa holds her hand for Anna. Once their hands touch, frost starts to appear around Anna's wrist and she tries to yank her hand back, but Elsa holds it tight.

"_What the hell—"_

"Tell me. Does it hurt?"

Even in near panic, she realises it doesn't. Not even cold. Quite comfortable, even. She looks up at Elsa, confused. "Well no? But it should, shouldn't it. I mean it's ice and all. Shouldn't I at least feel a little bit cold?"

"That's what I mean."

Understanding dawns. "Holy crap," Anna says. "_Holy crap_ I'm immune to you!"

"Quite. I can even throw a spike at you and… I've never done that before, now that I think of it. Do you want to try?"

"Um, no thanks?" Anna says haltingly, wondering if she's serious.

"Pity."

Anna decides that she is, just for the sake of not being impaled by anything.

Once again Elsa withdraws her hand and once again Anna feels the loss. Then her eyes travel down Elsa's neck and she realises the woman is still wearing the prisoner's garb.

"Oh crap. Sorry, I hadn't realised you're still dressed that way. Do you wanna borrow one of my dresses until we get you new ones? They should fit you just fine, maybe a bit short on the hem but it's better than what you're wearing right now."

"Why?"

_Why? _"Because it's what prisoners wear?"

"I like it. I think it's practical."

"Practical or not, it's still not something you'd wear outside a cell. Besides, it's such a waste. I liked your dress so much better and that looks so much more impractical. Not that I condone wearing something so impractical to fight in, but hey, it seemed to have worked for you. So wanna choose a dress together?"

"As you wish. But before that I have a request."

"Yeah?"

"I would like a bath."

"Of course! I'll tell the maids to prepare it for you. Just stay here while you wait – I have a secret chocolate stash underneath the bed so you can have it too if you like, just don't eat it all," Anna says, smiling brightly at Elsa. Despite everything she's still a woman, after all. All women like baths and she's determined to give Elsa the best bath ever. With bubbles and stuff. She pats Elsa on the knee and rises, walking towards the door. Resting her hand on the handle, she stops and glances back. "Oh and I'm going to find my mother and find out if it's safe enough from my father's wrath or if I should evacuate the castle for the night, so I might take a while. But the maid will point you to the right direction. Just try to not scare them too much. And Els?"

"Yes."

"I like your hair down better."


	3. a boon and a bane

**3.**

"How old are you?"

"Old."

"In years?"

"Those are two questions. That's not the way this works, Anna."

"Have I told you how much of a cheapskate you are?"

"Three."

"_Fine._"

With that line of questioning forced shut, Anna focuses once more on simply observing Elsa's movements, her chin resting on her palms.

"You're massacring the poor rabbit," she points out. "Actually, you're massacring it so hard I don't think we can eat it anymore. There goes dinner."

Elsa looks up from the bloody carcass in her hands, eyes narrowing from annoyance. "If you're so adept at this, why don't _you_ do it?"

"Can't, and that's a question. What's your favourite food?"

"Chocolate."

Anna smiles. "A woman of my own heart. And I can't do it because my wrists still hurt and I'd rather not aggravate them further."

And it does. Elsa makes a terrific sparring partner as much as she makes a terrific destroyer of rabbit carcass. Her favourite method of disarming is a quick riposte and an earth shattering blow to the wrists with the pommel of her blade, and Anna's lucky her wrists are only swollen and not shattered to bits. Though she likes how Elsa doesn't hold back (much), because being treated like a dainty princess by the men she's fought alongside with can get aggravating at times. "Leave that one alone; that's hopeless. Try again with the next, you're doing better already. Make your blade duller and be careful with the skin," she says again. "Try to not break the skin much – we'll bring it back and give it to the tanner. I do need some new riding gloves."

Elsa nods and tosses the poor mangled rabbit aside, grabbing another one from a pile of three. Setting the new rabbit on the ground belly up, she leans down from the log she's sitting on and makes a small incision on the base of its chest– shallow enough as not to puncture any organs – and draws the small knife she's conjured out of thin air downward. No guts spill out, Anna notes with relief. But then she draws too deep, almost nicking the pocket of stomach under the skin and Anna has to bite down a warning. Elsa hates being interrupted, and that's one of the few scant knowledge Anna has gained from their talks together.

Thankfully it's not a grievous error, and Elsa recovers after a small scowl. She's peeling the skin sideways now, using her knife at times when the skin is stubbornly clinging to flesh. Her hair is spilling over her shoulders and Anna finds herself captivated by the colour. It reminds her of spun silver, or if someone has decided to collect all the stars on the sky and weave it into a thread that is Elsa's hair.

Or whatever. She's never too good with metaphors. And like how she likes Elsa's hair down, she also likes the outfit Elsa has picked. In the end they didn't end up choosing a dress; Elsa had simply beelined straight towards where Anna had store her more practical outfits and picked from there. Even now, what Elsa's wearing hasn't deviated from the theme she'd chosen then. Maroon bodice over a white blouse, knee high riding boots over tight dark breeches.

The look fits her like a glove and Anna feels a stir of envy. No one will mistake Elsa as frail, even when she's wearing that impractical dress at their first meeting.

Elsa's still skinning the rabbit.

"You're very pretty, you know," Anna says.

"Four."

"That's not a question. Fine. Your turn. Shoot."

"What's your favourite colour?"

"Blue."

Elsa looks up then. There's a slight furrow to her brows, the shade of blue that is Anna's favourite colour catching the reflection of fire. "Blue? I thought… nevermind; I am confusing you with someone else." The friend or lover, Anna thinks, but doesn't inquire further. At least Elsa is listening instead of just going through the motions of entertaining her questions, and that's good enough for her. "Answering your question: it's not a compliment I'm unused to receiving."

"Aaaaand just as modest, it seems."

"I'm ornamental as I am practical, Anna. Sometimes it's a boon. Often times it isn't."

"How isn't it a boon?"

Maybe Elsa's right about her naivety, but Anna can't imagine a scenario where good looks can be a detriment. She's heard enough from her ladies-in-waiting to know that it's a much coveted feature, much like wealth or a position in the court. Her mother is beautiful too, and that has come useful more than once in negotiations. Hiding steel underneath the velvet of her looks, she'll smile and laugh and titter, then promptly wrench the position of power from her opponent's hands. It's not quite as useful now that her reputation has preceded her, but Anna still feels sorry for her father, sometimes.

Sighing, Elsa takes her hand away from the carcass and wipes the knife on the sole of her boot. She looks at Anna straight in the eye. "Why do you think it isn't?"

A question for a question.

Anna shrugs. "It just seems a useful thing to have, that's all."

Wordlessly Elsa resumes the skinning of the rabbit, sliding her knife under the skin. Once there's only a sliver of skin attached to the body, she rips it away with much more force than needed and tosses it aside. Then she slices the belly open, exposing the guts to the air. Finally she says, "when I told you I obey my master's each and every whim I do mean it."

Guts spill to the ground and the implication behind Elsa's words hits Anna like a brick.

She wants to reach out and hug Elsa, comfort her, tell her that everything's all right and she's so terribly sorry. But how can she? There's something so disquieting about touching a woman whose stories she's grown up with, something about Elsa's bearing that prevents the thought of touching her, just like how one doesn't casually run her hand through fire.

So she doesn't. Simply chooses to apologise through the safe buffer of their distance. Her apology starts and stumbles and she says she's sorry, she says how terrible it must have been, she's sorry for bringing it up and

And how can she not?

Because the pain on Elsa's face is terrible to behold even as she brushes off Anna's apologies with a casualness that's almost practised. Dusting imaginary lint off her skirt, Anna stands and skirts around the fire and the guts, sitting herself besides Elsa.

"I'm sorry," she says again. She wants to put a hand on Elsa's shoulder, but fears that her touch might be misconstrued as something else. "You shouldn't have to go through that. No one should. It's wrong."

"It's as wrong or as right as the pieces of metal that bind us together. A fact of life, simple as that," Elsa says, not looking at Anna. She flicks the remaining guts out of the rabbit with the point of her knife then cuts off the legs and the tuft of tail. "What next?"

"Cut it in two."

Elsa does.

"Now we cook it," Anna says. She takes one both pieces – minding the blood – and reaches down, taking the sticks she's sharpened beforehand with her free hand and impales both in the middle. She then jams the sticks so they are angled towards the fire. Taking the canteen near the log, she runs the water through her hands and motions at Elsa to do the same. "Then we wait."

"How long?"

"Until it cooks. And if I said that won't happen under me, will you believe me?"

"Many have said the exact same words."

And there's that smile again. They've gone a full circle. It seems like nothing she says will convince Elsa, but regardless, she tries. "It won't. I mean, how can I? I'm not a man—"

"Not only men. The women are gentler, but they can be as cruel or worse. Lust goes regardless of gender. Not even lust. Often times it's just a power play, to show me who exactly is in charge. It's a way to break someone, and it can be a very effective tool."

"Then tell me," Anna says gently. "Do I strike you as cruel?"

She wants to reach forward, cup Elsa's cheek, wipe that smile of Elsa's face. But of course she can't. She's regretting that fact that it wasn't her sword that had fallen the knight. If she knew this then, she would have done much more. So much more.

"You do not. You will never be cruel, Anna. It's never in your nature." Elsa speaks as if she's known Anna for a lifetime. She lifts her hand and it hovers in the space between them, before dropping it back onto her lap.

Anna thinks that maybe she isn't the only one who wants to initiate physical contact but won't. It's a thought that signifies nothing, so she asks instead, "then why won't you trust me?"

Elsa lets out a sigh. "Because as you would not attack the enemy head on, I would prefer not to put my heart on a platter. It was something I did all too often in my youth, and I've learned my lesson. I won't repeat that mistake again."

"You guard your heart zealously. I would never expect someone like you to say something like that."

"I am only human."

"That you are."

A few days ago Anna will have scoffed at the statement, maybe laugh at the absurdity, but that's before she's met Elsa and gotten to know her. Beneath all that ice and carefully blank look it's just a woman sitting beside her after all. A woman made from flesh and blood just as Anna is.

She turns the sticks to allow the raw side to cook, no longer in the mood for light hearted banter.

"We'll have to meet them tomorrow, y'know," she says absently, staring into the fire. "My parents I mean."

"How will they react?"

A shrug. "Mama will just be amused, as she always is. Papa? Probably torn between beheading you or beheading me or beheading us both. But he'll be fine. Mostly. Maybe."

There's a reason why she's spent the last three days in one of Gervais's cottages in the woods, away from the castle. Unlike Gervais, Elias has been anything but supporting, and she'd rather not brace the storm at its strongest. Not only that, she knows her speech about fending off invasion with Elsa by their side has also sparked enough interest that it's best for her just to remove herself from the picture all together, let it calm down before she makes another move. And well, here they are, roasting rabbits together like a very poor imitation of having high tea together.

She reminds herself to dig a hole for the entrails before dinner's done.

"I hope he will not try to kill me again. It will be such a shame, when I've grown quite used to your presence."

Anna chuckles. "Don't worry, he won't. Not with my lie about dying alongside you. Besides, we're pretty much nearly married already, with the bracelet and all. Killing you would be like killing my fiancé, and that's not very nice."

"But I did kill him."

"What?"

"Nothing important," Elsa says. "Merely a stray thought."

"…if you say so."

Once again they lapse into silence. It's the kind of easy silence shared between two women comfortable with another's presence.

**-X-X-X-X-X-**

Having started right at the break of dawn, they arrived at the castle with enough time to spare for a bath, a change of clothes, a conversation that thoroughly revolves around the weather over a box of chocolates (and Elsa _does _like her chocolates) and finally, enough time to converse with hushed voices in front of a door.

A passing maid curtsies, giving them a strange look and Anna grins and bids her good morning, watching her turn the corner before turning to Elsa again.

"What I'm saying is, we need a game plan, Els," she says, voice sibilant from trying to keep it in a whisper. "We can't just go in there willy nilly and hope for the best."

"And why not," Elsa says in very much her normal voice, and it takes everything in Anna to not tell her to lower it. Again.

"Becauuuse." The word comes in something that's almost a whine. "Aren't you even the slightest bit scared? He's my father, but he's still the King, you know. His words are still the law. Most of the time, anyway."

The law besides the times when a wayward, rebellious daughter is involved, that is.

"I'm used to dealing with royalty," Elsa says calmly. Anna has to yank Elsa's hand off the door handle. Again. Does this woman even _know_ the word self-preservation? "Do you not think it will be over much faster if we just go in instead of wasting time planning for every single scenario that might or might not happen?"

"No?"

Rolling her eyes, Elsa unceremoniously flings the door open and strides inside, leaving Anna to stumble after her, Anna's cries of Elsaaaaaaaa whyyyyyy deftly ignored. Elsa is _very _good at ignoring things when she wants to.

Three pairs of eyes are immediately on them.

Elias is sitting at the head of the table, flanked by Cecile and Gervais on each of his side. The milk Elias is pouring in his coffee flows over the rim of the cup, and Anna manages a weak smile.

"Morning papa, mama. Lord Gervais. Hope we didn't interrupt… or anything?"

Elsa merely bows, her breeches disallowing a curtsy. Anna seriously wants to bludgeon that woman to death.

"Good morning to both of you," Cecile says. She smiles and pats the sit next to her. "If you don't mind, you can sit beside me, Lady Elsa."

"Just Elsa is fine, Your Majesty."

"Just Elsa, then. Come. Anna can sit beside Lord Gervais and talk about handsome horses and bows and whatever they fancy."

"I don't think the King will be very pleased with my presence at the table, Your Majesty," Elsa says.

"Him? Oh please. Ignore him until he stops being a child, if you must." Cecile makes a dismissive gesture and turns to Elias. "And you _will _stop that petulance. It hardly befits a King."

After muttering something that sounds like why did I even marry this tyrant of a woman, Elias snorts but otherwise obliges, giving Elsa and Anna the worst impersonation of a congenial smile Anna has ever seen.

She wants to stick her tongue out at him, but decides against it and plops next to Gervais, Elsa already seated next to Cecile. Anna's greeted by a warm smile and a tussle to the hair by Gervais.

"Did you two have a nice evacuation? I hope my cottage has served your getaway excellently," he says.

"Oh, your cottage have been more than fine. The roof kinda leaks a bit though – we had to move the beds because it was raining right on our heads."

"Fixing that will be my highest priority then." Laughing, he slides a cup of tea towards Anna, then asks Elsa, "and what would you like, Elsa? Tea? Coffee?"

"Coffee will be fine, thank you. Black." Elsa says.

He takes the pot and pours the coffee into an empty cup and offers it to her.

Elsa takes a sip as Elias clears his throat.

"As much as I love pleasantries, I think it's best if—"

"How has my daughter treated you, Elsa?"

He shoots Cecile a look so full with annoyance and defeat it breaks Anna's heart terribly if it weren't so funny. Serves him right for the stubbornness he's exhibited. Poor papa, always at mama's mercy.

"Cecile…"

"Oh don't rush us, Elias. These poor girls haven't even had the chance to touch their breakfast yet," Cecile says.

He sighs. The sigh of a weary, defeated man. "Fine, fine. Continue your dainty talk about the weather and whatnot. Just ignore the King in the room."

Her smile is triumphant. She can be quite petty, at times. "Of course we will, my dear. So, Elsa?"

"She has treated me very well, Your Majesty. A kinder master I could not hope for."

"Likewise, just Cecile will do. And she doesn't quite take to being called master I'd presume, judging from the way her face is contorting."

Buttering a bread, Anna shoots Elsa a glare. Hadn't she told her to stop using that word? Seriously, that woman. Having finished buttering the bread, she then slaps some ham on top if it with vengeance, adds a few slices of cheese with equal vengeance and finally tops it off with another bread.

"Here," she says, dropping the sandwich on Elsa's plate. She knows from the three days they've spent together that Elsa's appetite is at best weak and at worst non-existent. She'll starve to death if left to her own devices, and Anna's determined not to let that happen. "And never ever use that word again. Ever. Or I'll use that sandwich to slap some sense into you."

"I apologise," Elsa says. But she's smiling faintly as she takes a bite out of her sandwich, and Anna's glad for that.

"You can call me Mistress Anna though. I've always liked the sound of that."

"Thank you, but I think I'll pass."

"Cheapskate."

Observing their interaction with an air of amusement, Cecile refills her cup of tea and says, "it seems like they're already close to another. Would you not agree, Alexander?"

"Quite. They do make a fetching pair, if I say so myself," Gervais says with the same glint in his eyes. "Now if only you would cease being so stubborn, Elias. They say it's bad for your health and I must agree; you're not looking well lately."

"That's only because I've been up for the last few days worried sick about my daughter's foolishness," Elias says, his fingers tapping the table in a burst of rhythmic staccato. "Do you ever think before you act, Anna?"

Ugh. Not this again.

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Anna starts making another sandwich, this time for herself. "Trust me; I thought way too long before I decided that that's the only way to save Elsa. And Corona. You can blame your stubbornness on that, papa."

"We would be _fine _without her! And there's no ignoring the fact that having her here just makes us a prime target—"

"_More _of a prime target, you mean. And _her_ name is Elsa. Let's not talk as if Elsa isn't here."

Sighing, Elias says, "I… apologise, Lady Elsa. That was quite rude of me."

"No offense taken, Your Majesty," Elsa says with an incline to her head.

Anna notices that neither of them has offered to be called on a first name basis. Elsa's placidity in front of an irked King is admirable though. She really isn't kidding when she said she's used to royalty. Maybe one of her contractors was a King or Queen or something.

"Actually, both of are you right," Gervais says. "Though I disagree about being fine without Elsa on our side… do you not remember the attack by Sommerfelt? If not for the freak storm, we would not have recovered enough to fend of the army brought in by the Southern Isles, with or without Elsa on the helm."

"And quite lucky indeed Elsa has decided in our favour. It seems our victories are due to nothing but luck lately," Cecile says. She takes the tea pot and hovers it above Gervais's cup. "Another cup, Alexander?"

"Please and thank you." Cecile pours the tea and Gervais turns his attention towards Elsa. "Come to think of it, neither you nor Anna have explained why you chose us instead of a more powerful nation. Sommerfelt is quite nice at this time of the year, I heard. Very pleasant."

"I have my own reasons," Elsa says, giving the same non-answer as she did towards Anna.

She's finished her sandwich Anna notices, and she sets forth to make a new one but stops when Elsa gives her a look. Then resumes her movement, deciding to make it anyway. "Don't even bother asking her to clarify, sometimes talking to her is like pulling teeth," Anna says as she piles even more ham than before. "But she won't harm us because of well, me. So yeah."

"I've insinuated nothing of the sort. I'm quite happy to take your word for it, Anna." Gervais leans back, apparently not bothered by Elsa's lack of meaningful answer. "Now the questions are: how can we use her? If you'd pardon my words, Elsa, but you _are_ a weapon after all. I hope it doesn't offend you much."

"It doesn't."

"I'm glad. Now the next question: what will their reaction be? Words should be travelling about your new arrangement now – and I presume since you've most likely dealt with this situation before, you're the most qualified of us to answer."

Elsa gives the newly created sandwich Anna has deposited on her plate a long look before answering. "I've no answer for the other kingdoms, however I know the Southern Isles will continue sending their troops until they can't afford to anymore. They are proud and you did kill one of their Princes. The King's favourite, if I may add."

Four pair of eyes stare at her blankly.

"What Prince?" Elias asks. Wary.

"My knight. Did you not know?" Anna wants to bury her face in her sandwich. Oh god why. And judging by Elias's expression, he's thinking the exact same thing. Elsa sweeps her gaze around the table, takes their various expressions of shock in, and sighs. "I suppose none of you did. I apologise – I should not have assumed. I would have said something sooner."

"Yeah… you kinda should've," Anna says, shoulders slumping. They really, _really _can't afford to start an ongoing war. Sporadic attacks are bad enough, but those are mostly attacks of opportunity. Killing a Prince? That's an entirely different matter. "What do we do now?"

Playing with her collar, Elsa appears to mull. "You said that you're caught between three warring nations?"

Cecile takes it upon herself to answer. "Correct. Those would be Sommerfelt, the Southern Isles and Errenburg."

"Which one is the most disadvantaged?

"Errenburg, I think." This time it's Elias, apparently having given up with being angry at Anna in the face of a more pressing matter. He strokes his beard, pondering. "Their infantry is quite impressive, but due to their mountainous terrain they've neglected their cavalry and they're paying for it dearly, especially after Sommerfelt has figured that burning whole patches of mountains at a time is easier than engaging them in their turf."

"And if I recall correctly, the only reason why the Southern Isles has yet to set their full might on Errenburg is only because you're directly in the path, yes?"

"Quite correct, sadly," Elias says.

"And why aren't you both allies? It seems like the most logical thing to do."

"Because they think it's just a matter of time we're taken so why bother protecting another territory that's doomed to fall?" Anna says flippantly, spearing a sausage from the communal platter with her fork.

"_Anna!_"

"Oh don't give me that tone, papa. You know I'm right. Don't you agree, mama? Lord Gervais?"

"Unfortunately. If you'd swallow your pride for just a moment, Elias," Cecile suggests gently. "We can't keep walking the path of ruin just because you're too proud to admit we're crumbling, and fast. You know better than that, and it shouldn't take Elsa's presence to spur this conversation. I won't let you turn a deaf ear to the plea of our people anymore."

Gervais too, steps up, supporting Cecile. "Harsh as her words maybe be, there's truth in it. I know you're content with being sitting ducks because we're too weak for anything else, but now that Elsa is here, we finally have the leverage we need. I suggest you take advantage of her, as she seems quite keen to help. There's no need to be afraid anymore."

Anna watches carefully for her father's reaction. There's a moment when he looks like he wants to strike Gervais for having the audacity to suggest that he might be in the wrong, but it seems like reason has finally won against impulse after a long silent battle, his face smoothening into a neutral, if not somewhat weary expression.

Anna breathes a sigh of relief. She knows Elias isn't the cowardly King many of his subjects have led to believe. He simply needs a spur, a prod to the right direction, and she's glad he's come through.

"I— It… pains me to hear those words from those closest to me, but even with dented pride, I must admit that you're right. You all are. I apologise for my less than favourable attitude towards you, Lady Elsa. You don't deserve it – clearly what you did was against your will and it would do me well to finally accept that."

"Suspicion is quite natural, Your Majesty – it _is_ a valuable trait. I would judge you more unfavourably should you accept my presence without so much of a doubt. A trusting King a dead King makes."

Anna's jaw drops. Seriously, Elsa? He's beginning to trust you and here you are encouraging suspicion against you? What the hell. She must have been dropped on the head as a baby.

But despite that, Elias simply nods. "You're quite right. I'll take that to mind." They both _must_ have been dropped on the head. But well, at least now they're amicable towards each other. Two steps forward. "So you were suggesting that we try to form an alliance with Errenburg? I'm not quite sure they will agree…"

"They will, now that you have me," Elsa says.

Whoa. Such confidence.

"That's true, your might _is_ unparalleled after all. I'll draft a missive and send a messenger to Errenburg at once. Is there anything else we should do?"

It's strange how easily the tables have turned, Elsa going from a person to be wary of to someone they're actively asking advice from. But Anna's not going to question the turn of events – that's one problem out of her mind. She's just glad that they're not treating Elsa with suspicion anymore; she doesn't deserve that. Anna knows that Elsa is a good person, deep inside, and it'll be nice if they can see that too.

"First step will be to levy more land taxes – a five percent increase will do. It's so low right now your vassals can take it without much strain to their resources. Use that arm your soldiers, hire mercenaries. I won't tell you to build more warships because you can't possibly compete with the Southern Isle's navy in such a short span of time; if ever. They will also be moot once you take the Southern Isles…"

"Take the Southern Isles you say? Aiming a bit high, aren't we?" Cecile says with the tell-tale of amusement.

"Not immediately. All in due time, of course. I can't say that I am not bitter of their treatment of me, so I won't say that it's exclusively for your benefits."

"As long it aligns with our interest, of course. Their location and massive ports do make a lucrative trade route that will benefit us greatly." Once again Elias is stroking his beard, as he always does when he's deep in thought. "But even with increased taxes – and let's pretend my ministers will agree – and assume we do have enough to hire mercenaries, I don't see how we can amass enough men to make a sizeable army. And if you're planning on conscripting, I would have to respectfully decline. Retaliation is one thing, but that crosses my boundaries, I'm afraid."

Elsa appears nonplussed. "There are not enough mercenaries in your kingdom?"

Oh right. She's used to being in big, powerful nations. Of course she's only vaguely aware at how pathetic their current condition is.

"Why would they?" Anna asks with a shrug. "We have nothing to offer them, and until recently we've been quite at peace. So yeah."

"I see… that's unfortunate."

Silent until now, Gervais decides to seize the moment. "Actually, I think I might have a suggestion. You see – the tribes, they've been infesting our lands like vermins. Very annoying, those people. They raid our villages and take precious livestock, kidnap our women, kill our men. Wouldn't it be quite nice if we can somehow subjugate them in a way that benefits us?"

Raising an eyebrow, Elsa says, "you want me to… recruit them?"

"Sure. If Elias here is too stingy to lend you his soldiers, use mine. My people are taking the brunt of their raids, after all, and hearing complaints after complaints from grieving families does get tiring after a while."

"You sly old fox," Elias says, shaking his head. "Do what you will, the both of you. I assume my daughter will be going with you?"

"Of course!" Anna says.

They both ignored her. What's with people and ignoring her nowadays?

"Unfortunately our bond doesn't allow any of us to stray far from each other. By your permission, of course."

Elsa still hasn't touched her sandwich, so Anna decides to deposit some sausages on top of it. They'll need all the energy they can get if this conversation is going where she thinks it's going.

"Even without that, preventing her from joining a fight is like… well, like something direly impossible. As long as I have your word that you'll protect her."

"With my life."

Elias nods, drinks the last of his coffee and rises, offering his hand towards Cecile. "Then I'll leave the three of you to plot. Now I have ministers to convince. Wish me luck, because I'll need all I can get. Come, Cecile. I need you to kill them with your charm."

Taking his arm, Cecile chuckles as she rises to join him. "Of course, dear. Have fun, children. Do keep safe. Convince both Elias and I that Anna is right about you, hmm?"

"Of course, Cecile," Elsa says.

With that, they're gone, and Anna turns her attention towards Gervais, who is currently her most favourite person on the word. "So. When we gonna do this?"

"Tonight, actually. I've caught wind of their next target, and you can't blame an old man for having his men prepared and ready to indulge in his paranoia, can you?"

The twinkle in his eyes is familiar, and Anna grins in return. "No, no they can't. I guess we'll have to go and verify for ourselves then. Y'know. Just in case."

"Quite, my dear. Quite."

"And Elsa? Eat the food on your plate. I won't have you fainting from an empty stomach mid-battle. You _did _promise to protect me, so for me? Please?"

Sullen, Elsa glares daggers at her, but otherwise obliges, starting off with the sausages that are starting to leave grease marks on the bread of her sandwich.

Anna can't help but smile, pleased at how things are proceeding. She can only hope the winds will continue blowing in their favour.


	4. for your greater good

**4.**

"How far?"

"Six hundred steps until it starts, roughly," Anna says.

Six hundred steps until her ears start to ring with a persistent, high pitched whine. Seven hundred until the pounding in her head starts. Eight hundred until she can no longer form a coherent thought. She's tested this thoroughly, walking in straight line away from Elsa until she can't take it anymore and has to half-crawl, half-walk back, or until Elsa finds her and nulls the pain with her presence, even when the contortions of her own face mirrors Anna's. It's just a shadow of the pain Anna can inflict should she chooses to, Elsa tells her.

The leash goes both ways, but she's not the one who has it tied around her neck.

"That's far enough. You stay in the camp—"

Anna crosses her arms. "No."

"Then at the back of the formation—"

"No. I'll be right next to you and that's final."

"Anna…"

"No." The word repeats itself like a musician's tireless arpeggio and Anna's arms doesn't leave her chest. "Don't treat me like a helpless damsel in distress, Elsa. I've proved my worth in a fight more than enough times, so I'd prefer if you don't think of me as a Princess playing war. I'm _not _helpless. And if you say it's for my own good, I swear I'll drown you in the moat myself."

Palms spread over the map, Elsa is still pouring over it, scarcely giving Anna a glance. As if she's won the conversation in her mind and Anna's words are just humdrum she can't wait to pass by. How can someone apathetic enough to have accepted her death sentence so meekly be so wilful? Elsa can be infuriating at times, and the more time they've spent together the more Anna starts to realise that fact. Once again she opens her mouth to give Elsa a piece of her mind but then

"Is it just me or is the _tension_ between you two so I feel like can run my sword through it?" says Jan, who has replaced his suspicion of Elsa with merciless, inappropriate jokes about their bond (or bondage, as he likes to say). He's the self-appointed jester no one finds funny.

"That's quite inappropriate in the presence of Princess, Jan," Elsa says, looking at him from her end of the table. Anna nods vigorously. "Though I will notify you should it happens, as it seems you might very much appreciate a personal account."

Anna's mouth stays open. Like how she has realised that Elsa can be infuriating, she's also learned that Elsa also has a sense of humour. The kind of humour that appears so rarely and delivered with a face so straight you wonder whether it's happened at all. Probably prefer if it's not happened at all.

"A _very_ detailed personal account," Jan says. She wants to punch that smirk off his face.

"Of course." And Elsa. She also wants to punch Elsa. On the gut. Because unlike Jan's face punching hers will be akin to doodling over a great Sarkesian painting with a charcoal stick. "But only if you give me your word that you'll stay by her side and protect her from harm. Do you understand me?"

"You have my most sincere word," he says.

They shake hands, and Anna feels like she can't possibly say anything that will rectify the situation. Not only due to the distastefulness of the joke, there's also the abject ridiculousness with the thought of Elsa and her ever… consummating (because what are they besides already married in all but documents? That's one thing Jan gets right. All in life and death), because Elsa is still fire in her mind.

"A compromise, Anna," Elsa says, noticing the grimace on her face. "Not beside me, but behind me with Jan. That's the best I can offer."

Anna huffs. "It's not like I have any choice, do I?"

"Your word, Anna."

"No."

Because she's a woman of her words, and this isn't one she's planning to keep. If she agrees at all, it's just for the sake of moving the conversation forward.

"Don't be so bullheaded, Princess. How can you deny a simple man his only entertainment?"

She chucks a paperweight at him, deliberately missing. Simple her ass. More like fiercely intelligent and deceptively lazy. Pity he can't feign not being the highly esteemed Lord Gervais's first-born son. Serves him right.

He chuckles, and she decides to ignore him for the rest of the night, choosing to focus on the oncoming battle instead. Also because it serves him right, that dunce.

"So flogging the dead horse called Anna aside – and I haven't changed my mind by the way, so don't even try – fifty strong huh? And we're only bringing ten of our own why?"

"Because I'm more than enough. Those ten are only there to take the prisoners; I'll do all the work beforehand." Elsa lifts her hands off the map and takes Anna's helmet from its place near the map, having been tossed there carelessly by Anna when they entered Gervais's war room. "Jan, tell them to get ready. We'll leave as soon as I'm done here."

"Righty-ho. Don't take too long, otherwise I might have to come by and check." His tone is neutral enough, but she can hear the lewd suggestion behind them. Whistling, he takes his sword, straps it to his belt and exits, closing the door behind him.

A very unnecessary action, in Anna's opinion; it's not like she and Elsa are going to do anything but have a polite conversation that can totally be done with the door open. Jan might be handsome with his blond hair and the rugged good looks he's inherited from his father, but once a pervert always a pervert. Right now his attractiveness hovers around zero, in her mind.

And Elsa's still examining Anna's helmet, turning it this way and that, holding it up against the light to catch any dents, running her fingers over the surface to check for any imperfection.

"It's old," Elsa says, frowning. "When did you last replace it?"

Anna shrugs. "A few years ago. I don't really use leather helmets often and I don't really get blows to my head. I mean, except that one time where Horse kicked me…" Yep; she named her horse Horse and she's proud of it. "Or did you find anything wrong with it?"

"A few scratches here and there but it's fine. Hold your arms out, sideways."

Anna does, and Elsa moves to her side after placing the helmet back onto the table. Anna feels the straps to her breastplate being undone, and she angles her neck down, watching the movement of Elsa's shoulders as she redoes the straps, undoes it, then redoes it again. Elsa's overprotectiveness can be infuriating, but she also finds it sweet that Elsa cares so much. She wonders if Elsa is always like this to her previous contractors. The nice ones, anyway.

"Found something wrong there too?" Anna asks.

Elsa's hair shifts over her shoulder, revealing the nape of her neck. Anna looks away, suddenly finding the far wall very fascinating.

"Just slightly loose."

"…good to know."

One last tug and Elsa withdraws into an arm's length, appraising Anna up and down, from the top of her head down to her toes. Apparently satisfied, she nods. "Your hair."

"Okay."

Anna's tied her hair into a bun and wrapped her braids around it as she always does when she wears a helmet, but her bangs are still too short to be tied back along with the bun so she's going about to rectify it right now, tucking stray hair behind her ears, smoothing her bangs sideways. Just when she thinks she's done, Elsa reaches forward, knuckles brushing Anna's cheekbone as she tucks a lock of hair Anna's missed.

"Sorry; you missed a bit there." Elsa smiles, then. A very small smile, but sincere and warm. Anna likes those smiles, rare as they are. It makes Elsa a little bit more Elsa instead of the faceless woman from the books. "Now wrists."

Anna holds her wrists out, palms up. "Don't worry about them. Good as new."

"Let me be the judge of that," Elsa says, thumbs on the tendons of Anna's wrist, circling slowly, rhythmically up, sideways, down to the palms. Then they stop in their tracks, Elsa's thumbs in the middle of Anna's palm, fingers loose against the base of her wrists.

Elsa's touch lingers a bit too long for simple observation, and once again Anna finds the wall very fascinating indeed. "Um," she says to the wall, "is it okay or…"

Elsa dallies so long in letting go she thinks it's with reluctance, if it's not Elsa she's talking about. But it _is_ Elsa, so she's probably just making sure they're indeed all right. "…they're all right. Now ankle."

"Ankle what ankle."

Rising an eyebrow, Elsa says, "the one you twisted?"

Oh. That. The ankle Anna thought she broke. But you can hardly blame a woman for being a bit dramatic when she's about to be eaten by a bear made out of _ice_, can you? So she wiggles it, or tries to, because there's only so much wiggling that can be done when her boots are stiff enough to deflect anything short of a claymore to her leg. Janus has always been pretty big on safety.

"It's fine," she says. "Fully mobile and all. Or you want me to take it off too to check for yourself?"

"No. I'd rather not risk someone coming in on us and starting a rumour mill that I'm soiling the Princess's innocence in a Lord's war room."

Oh, right. It's another one of Elsa's off-colour not-jokes. "Ahaa…"

Elsa then slides the helmet gently down Anna's head, giving it slight wiggles on the way down to ensure the fit.

"Y'know," Anna says once it's securely on her head, "I find it kinda unfair I'm going to sweat under all this armour – I mean leather is lighter than steel, but still, stifling. And you're just wearing _clothes._ Can't you at least wear gloves? Share my pain?"

"I dislike gloves," Elsa says simply. "And unlike you, I don't need armour to remain anonymous. I would still prefer if you wear a full face helmet – but I suppose this obscures enough that it shouldn't matter."

Anna makes a face. "Yeah – let's not even think of that; I'll die from heat stroke. I only wore a full plate when we met because we knew you'd be icy. Well not you specifically, but everything _was_ kinda icy. I don't think any of us have seen so much ice in our lifetime."

Elsa lets out a small laugh. "I'm glad I was quite a spectacle, then. Though I wish the circumstances have been different."

Oh, but you're always a spectacle.

"Well, you did what you had to do. I'll have to talk to the men who fought there, but I'm sure with some convincing they'll start to understand. Well; lots of convincing. But I'll do my best."

"Thank you, Anna. I appreciate you trying."

Anna grins. "Hey no problem. I mean, if we're gonna be stuck together for life, I'd rather people like my other half too."

"Then I hope you won't think too lowly of me after today."

Huh? "What do you mean? We're just going to negotiate, right?"

"Yes," Elsa says, already turning. "Come; we have a task to finish. Let us not let Lord Gervais down."

**-X-X-X-X-X-**

Ten of Gervais's handpicked men, Jan, Elsa and herself.

Much too few, Anna thinks, lips moving silently as she counts the number of torches below their vantage point. "Forty-three," she says, voice low.

Through the corner of her eye she sees the shadow of Jan's nod, crouched as she is, hidden behind the silhouette of tall trees. As the rest of them are. "Sounds about right. Torches though – they're getting more brazen by the year. They used to try harder at being subtle."

"It was a harsh winter – doubly more so in the mountains. I understand their desperation."

"Doesn't make it right to take it out on our people. They suffered, too. Did they not think of that?"

_Her _people. And these men with their torches are her people just as much as the villagers, as Jan and his men are, because do these men not reside in Corona just as they all are? But she doesn't expect him to understand when it's his fief that's suffered the brunt of the raids. It has even caused the rare discord between Gervais and her father – and that rarely happens, if ever. She wonders if they've patched things up as they've been quite cordial to each other lately. Still, Jan has explicitly stated that they're going to merely subdue these men – no harm done, so it's better than nothing.

It's odd that they're not attempting a flank though, or even have a sharpshooter amongst them, because no matter how high their vantage point is, it's still merely a hill, and should they rush down they'll still meet the bulk of the raiders head on. Elsa is strong, but surely they won't rely on her alone?

"Hey Els? This is part of the plan, right? We're just going to subdue and negotiate, like you promised."

A heartbeat passes, and Elsa answers, straightening from her crouch. "Yes. Make sure to stand behind me and close to Jan, Anna. The rest of you, ready your arms. At my signal."

Hearing the simultaneous quite unsheathing of swords, Anna unsheathes hers along with theirs and waits. The raiders are almost directly below them. Ten. Nine. Eight.

Elsa moves between two trees, out into the open. Seven. Six. She stretches her arms skyward, as if reaching for the stars, and conjures herself a bow. The bow gleams white against the moonlight as she draws the bowstring tight. Five. Four.

"Get ready, Princess," Jan says.

Anna nods, even if she finds it odd how Jan's men has simply accepted Elsa to be their spearhead when they've suffered and lost friends to the very same woman just a scant four days ago. Anna doesn't have any choice because of her bond, but they do, and their behaviour, their acceptance doesn't make sense – even when they _are_ the finest soldiers under Gervais's banner.

Two.

One.

And Elsa lets loose, her arrow shooting up high into the air. Up; up; up. Higher and higher still until Anna can barely see it – and then she does. Right after the arrow reaches the highest point of its arch, it starts to multiply seemingly out of thin air. Just like that. A dozen. Two dozen. Three. Four. When it rains it pours, they say. It's pouring icy arrows now, and Anna has no doubt these arrows are far sharper, far deadlier than any steel can be.

And it pours. God; how it pours. These men has never stood a chance. Anna hears screams, sees their rank crumple like scattered ants. Those still alive try to flee, leaving the immobile crawling on the ground or otherwise not moving at all, limbs and torsos and heads pierced clean by the arrows. Human pincushions.

What the

What

Anna tries to say something – stares at Elsa in shock. Tries to convey her thoughts, how wrong it is. Aren't they just going to negotiate? Talk just like, like these men are _hers_ and not just bags of flesh to be slaughtered like that. They deserve their last words and Elsa's not giving them any. She tries to open her mouth again but words from barely formed thoughts are stuck in her throat.

Elsa's still standing tall, immobile like her powers. Then she flicks her wrist and once again her beasts rise from a flurry of snow, each as tall as five men standing foot to shoulder. Unlike her fierce but beautiful animals or the strangely humanoid golems Anna's seen before, these are… different. Clearly beasts, but also with the uncanny features of a human: long, gangly arms, stocky hind legs, long crocodilian snouts. Claws as long as their teeth. They let out a strange, forlorn cry and immediately charges in unison, splitting into several directions in pursue of the fleeing humans. A man is caught. Two. Six. Caught and immediately torn limb to limb, as if they're mere paper and the armours nothing but decoration. They tear and tear, even if the man is already dead, even when they no longer resembles the shape of a person. A confetti of flesh.

Anna feels sick to her stomach and Elsa's watching the scene with an expression that borders on boredom.

"How many are left?" Elsa asks, gaze still riveted at the carnage. Never once has she looked at Anna, never once has she bothered to gauge Anna's reaction.

As if Anna is just unworthy of her time.

"Sixteen, m'lady," one of the men answers from behind them.

With a nod, Elsa snaps her fingers and the beasts immediately shatter into small pieces of ice. "Good enough. Now we finish them."

And just like that, Jan's—no; Elsa's men charges forth, following her stride, splitting into two groups with Anna and Jan in the middle: the rock in the middle of a raging stream. His fingers are tight around her elbow and she slaps it away.

"You can go back to the camp, Princess. I'll go with you. You don't need to see this," he says, his face twisting into what Anna feels is just a mockery of worry.

And he _is _mocking her. How dare he suggest that she is too weak to stomach this? That she has absolutely no power over Elsa at all. She just wants to talk and goddamned Elsa – goddamned _Elsa—_

"I'll stop her," she says, speech finally returning to her. Her brain still reels. She knows how. She just needs to. To. "I'll stop her."

"You can't," he says. Pitiful. "Let's go back. I'll—"

But Anna's already running downhill, sword held at an angle, its point nearly touching the ground. She's running downhill but why? Who is she supposed to strike down? Because her mind screams that Elsa's the enemy, not these poor warriors with their hollow cheekbones and mismatched armour full of patches. She doesn't know what to think, so she simply lets her instinct to take over, running and running until she almost barrels into one of them.

He's surprised but quickly recovers, sending a one-handed blow with his mace. She lets it hit her sword, the shock travelling down from steel to her wrist, aggravating the old bruise she's sustained from Elsa's blows. A flash of Elsa's movements during one of their spars comes unbidden, and she knows what do. Drawing from that memory, she twirls her sword and runs the edge down the shaft of the mace, down down until the edge of her sword nearly reaches her sword and—and he stops dead and gurgles: a strange, blubbering sound. The point of a spike of ice is protruding from his throat, right beneath his Adam's apple.

So sharp is the spike and so clean the wound, there's blood dripping down his chin to his neck and nothing else. He falls and her mind goes blank. Jan is already half a field away, engaged with a man more than a head taller than he is. He's losing, arm span not quite matching the man's. It's not important. He's not important.

So she looks at the only thing her mind can focus on right now. Elsa. Elsa Elsa _Elsa._

And Anna thinks: there must be a part of Elsa that's broken.

Because broken is the only word that can be used to describe what Anna's seeing right now. Not the hopeless, one-sided fight or the limbs and heads scattered or the dark patches on the ground, but _Elsa. _Her every movement, every step she takes, every precise cut of her blade made of ice against flesh.

Thunk! the pommel of Elsa's blade goes as it hits the rusty breastplate of the man who has been kneeling until then, surrendering and begging to be spared. His torso hits the ground, his face pressed flat against dirt. Thunk, Elsa's pommel goes, and then there's no sound at all; because what onomatopoeia is there to describe the complete lack of sound a blade makes when it goes through a man's neck? Or the sound it makes as it slices through the flesh and bone and tendons of a thigh?

Nothing.

One second ago the man was on his knees in surrender, and now he's dead, throat impaled, leg cut off mid-thigh. With the casualness of stepping on a small bug, Elsa shakes the blood off her blade and kicks the leg to the side, as if it's just a piece of debris impeding her path during a stroll in the woods.

And Elsa strolls. She _strolls_: calm, slow, languid. Strolls so casually over to her next target that Anna thinks that there's something broken inside her, like all the years with the collar has stretched her mind taut and snapped it. That's the only explanation Anna has. Only someone who's not quite there can look as if she's thinking of dinner or attending a play while murdering – no, butchering fellow human beings.

Elsa strolls, one foot after another, reaching Jan and the warrior he's engaged with. Elsa stops behind the warrior, giving Jan ample time to back-step away as soon as he's spotted her.

"_Run!_" Anna shouts with all she's worth – not to Elsa nor Jan, but to the warrior.

He doesn't hear. Or maybe he does, then disregards it as mere background noise, but she can't let this man become just another victim of Elsa's senseless killing. If Anna can just save one then—she has no time to think. The man's going forward after Jan, strafing in a semi-circle and Elsa's still behind him, eyeing him almost lazily with that look. That look. She's tapping her blade against her palm and Anna launches herself forward, breaking into a sprint. At once her ankle starts to burn and throb again, but she grits her teeth and ignores it, focused only on her target. She needs to stop Elsa. Do something. Stop her.

_Fix her_.

Just one thought— _no._

But she's too far. She's half a battlefield away and there's no doubt Elsa knows what she's doing: the uncanny awareness borne out of their bond. She knows Elsa knows because they're locking eyes, and for once a troubled expression crosses Elsa's face and the tapping of her blade halts, as if she's not quite sure if she should proceed or not.

Anna's bought herself time. Enough to—

Nothing.

She's too late.

With a simple flick of Elsa's arm, the warrior crumples to the ground. Both halves of him. Anna sees the dull, wet glint of blood and spilled entrails and at once it reminds her of the rabbit Elsa's gutted. How strong is Elsa? How sharp is her blade? Inane questions fills Anna's mind, even as she's stopped right on her tracks, right hand supporting herself up on the knee, left hand clasped over her mouth. The hand with the bracelet that signifies her lifetime bond with a monster.

"I'm sorry, Princess. We didn't want you to see this."

She looks up. Jan is standing there, with flecks of gore spattered across his neck and chest, giving her a look of pity so strong Anna finally understands. Elsa might be broken, but it's Anna's fault this has happened at all. Her and her goddamned ignorance.

She grabs his hand by the wrist and yanks it away. "You _bastard_. You've planned this all along."

"We did," he says, even as the hurt from her reaction is as clear as day. "Father, Elsa and I thought it would be best if we—"

"You bastard." Anna doesn't bother keeping the pretence of civility in her voice. This man deserves none of it. "You kept this from me – _why? _We didn't need to do this. They were helpless, Jan. Did you see their armour? They have _nothing!_ We could've just talked to them. Try to. Could've given them a goddamned chance!"

"Could've, but it would've achieved nothing. They've been a thorn at our side for far too long, Princess. Their raids will just increase after the desperation of winter, and with Elsa's arrival suddenly it just becomes very easy…" He shrugs, looks away. "You'll understand one day. It's for the greater good."

"One day? _One day? _So what – I'm too weak and naïve and foolish now to even warrant a word in this plan of yours? Curse you, Jan," Anna says, teeth bared. God; even now they're just thinking of her as a useless ornament. Not even worth telling anything to.

It's not ten of Gervais's best soldiers that he's chosen, but ten of his most discreet, loyal subjects. Discreet enough to not question any orders given to them; loyal enough to execute those orders without any sign of moral qualms.

"Believe me when I say you're none of that; the fault lies within us entirely. We've taken advantage of your trust and I'm truly sorry, Princess, but I stand by my words. It's the correct thing to do, and if I had to do it all over again, I will. This is also for your future…" His words halting, he glances to his right, at Elsa. Elsa gives him a small nod and suddenly his arm is around Anna's shoulder, forcing her to turn, walk away. "Come. We've won – they should know what they're up against now. She's going to finish up and it's really… well, it's really best if you don't hang about."

"What the _hell_—"

"_Please_, Princess. We really have to go."

He exerts more force, and she has no choice but to follow him. But not before glancing over her shoulder, just as the first spikes of ice have risen to the ground and piece through a man's body, suspending him skyward. Another barrage of spikes, another body. That body twitches then doesn't. It was alive. He was still alive.

And for a moment that stretches and stretches, Anna feels like she's suspended in time, frozen with the simple knowledge that she _can _stop Elsa. Just a single thought laced with the intent to hurt and Elsa will fall and crumble, like castle upon sand. Just one. Single. Thought.

But she can't. She _can't._ Because she's given her word, and no matter how strong or natural that urge is, there's also an undercurrent that's more powerful than anything else. It goes against any logical thought, but she feels compelled to protect Elsa. Fix her. _Needs _to have Elsa beside her. It doesn't make sense.

The moment stretches, breaks and she turns away, forcing the roll of nausea back down into her stomach.

**-X-X-X-X-X-**

They ride back to the castle in silence, Elsa and her. Jan has elected to stay in his father's estate. It doesn't take them long to arrive, and once they've stabled their horses, Anna immediately storms straight to the library.

Opening the door, Anna turns to Elsa. "I don't care if you need to camp outside the door tonight. Leave me alone." And steps inside, slamming the door shut.

The sound echoes around her and she might have knocked a few books off the shelves, but she doesn't care. Tearing her gloves off her hand, she flings them to the ground and strides to the shelf at the corner of the room. She knows this one by heart, and there's no hesitation in her movements as she quickly skims over the titles and picks the most relevant ones, piling half a dozen in her arms and she goes back to the armchairs near the fireplace and tosses them onto the carpet. Then she repeats the motions until all the books that contain any mention of Elsa are scattered at the base of the chair.

She then sits herself on one of the chairs and starts skimming, ignoring the ringing in her ears that signifies Elsa has strayed beyond the safe boundary. Let her.

The fireplace burns bright and Anna reads. And reads.

Morgana.

Monster.

White haired witch.

Pale woman.

Snow-kissed goddess.

Mistress.

Elise.

Elizabeth.

Weapon.

Slave.

All these names, all these monikers and never once has the name Elsa been mentioned. All the accounts seem to call Elsa something different, and it's frustrating to connect the lines together. She's never quite sure if they're simply retellings or parables or honest accounts, but she knows enough that most, if not all of them speak of the same person. All about her powers and her feats and the crushing defeat of her enemies but nothing of her as a woman. Stories she's read a thousand times before that tell absolutely nothing.

Frustrated, she hurls the book against the door, its spine hitting wood with a loud, dull thud that just seem to flame her anger further. Exhaling heavily through her nose, she slumps forward and brings a hand to massage her temples. Her head is pounding, but it's from a simple headache. Exhaustion, exertion or just simple emotional high. The ringing's stopped, though, and well, she knows what comes next.

The handle to the door turns, and Elsa slides in, having changed from her gore stained clothes to her own dress made of ice. Anna hates that dress. She has found it beautiful with its cut and its patterns of snowflakes but now she hates it. It makes Elsa look too much like a Queen, and Anna like nothing but a mere servant, dancing to her Queen's every tune.

"I used to wear gloves," Elsa says casually, bending down to pick Anna's discarded gloves. She dusts it and arranges them neatly on the small table besides Anna's armchair. "I was led to believe it would keep my powers at bay. They were wrong, of course."

"And you're telling me this why?"

Elsa gestures at the messy array of books scattered on the floor. "Because it seems you're quite eager to know more about me. Did you learn anything useful?"

"You had quite a few lovers in your time."

"Are you jealous, perhaps?"

Anna scoffs. "Yes, quite jealous because I'm _clearly_ in love with a woman I've only known for less than a week. No, Elsa. I'm irked because I have to resort to words written by long dead scholars to know _anything_ about you."

"You simply need to ask the right questions," Elsa says, taking a seat on the empty armchair. She crosses her legs and steeples her hands above her stomach.

Her placidity is infuriating, and Anna has to look away and take several deep breaths before she can trust herself to continue. "The right questions? Okay. Let's start. Where were you from? How old are you? What's your real name? What were you before you _this? _Who do I keep reminding you of?"

"Those are not the right questions," Elsa says, and once again the anger surges strong within Anna.

"Then what _is? _God Elsa, sometimes it feels like I'm talking to a brick wall with you."

"Ask me about my favourite colour. What I do at night when my thoughts threaten to overwhelm me. Ask about my pastime; ask me about fractals and geometry. Ask me about the meanings behind each gesture of a lady's fan. Those, I can tell you."

"All the unimportant questions that answer nothing."

"But they are the right ones."

"It's useless talking to you."

"I'm sorry."

Elsa and her goddamned apologies. How many of them are sincere? None, Anna answers herself. None. But she'll give her one more chance. Just one more chance.

"Answer me this, then: why did you go behind my back? What _right_ do you have to undermine my authority, slaughter those men? Do you feel any remorse at all? _Tell me." _

Tilting her head to the side, Elsa's gaze is unwavering, watching Anna with those cold, calculating eyes of hers. Like she's always done, but Anna was just too blind to see. Not anymore.

"You know why," Elsa says.

"I want to hear it from your mouth."

"Because we have determined it a necessity. It's why I had my familiars tear them apart, why I've left their bodies suspended on ice to be found by their allies. Because we can't afford kindness, not when fear is so easily wrought. Man, ice, beast, I utilised them all to keep the fear alive. For the greater good."

Again with that. She's just parroting Jan. For the greater good. For _their_ greater good. Certainly not Anna's.

"That doesn't make it right—"

"It doesn't. But tell me, if we were to negotiate with them, how long will it take? Offers, counter offers. Arguments. Insubordination. You can no longer afford it. Has kindness not been the downfall of your kingdom? You have to choose one, Anna, and sometimes the choice is already made for you."

All throughout Elsa's speech, Anna has clenched her fist tight, nails digging deep into her palm until it nearly breaks skin. She loosens her fists just enough to not do any more damage, but not enough for the pain to dissipate. It keeps her anger in check. Keeps her from raising her voice, from entertaining the thought that has passed her mind as she watched Elsa arrange the bodies into display.

"You think of hurting me," Elsa says. Casually. Without surprise. "Why didn't you? It's easy to stop me, but you didn't."

"Because—" because she can't, and she's unable to form anything tangible enough to explain why "—because I've given you my word, and unlike _you_, I keep them."

"Sometimes it's necessary to break words."

"Not for me."

"Even if it has cost you dozens of the lives of others?"

"You!" But it hits deep and she stops her words right in their tracks. There's no answer to that. Anna averts her gaze, no longer able to match those eyes with her own. Elsa's right. She's let Elsa run rampant all because she's bound by a single promise and the vague compulsion of protecting someone who doesn't need any. Their blood are on her hands, and there's nothing to say. She feels her shoulders sag.

"And you didn't say anything when I have killed all those soldiers from the Southern Isles as you looked on," Elsa continues. Landing blow after blow after blow. "Did it not bother you because they were your enemy? You can be quite self-righteous, Anna."

Hypocritical. Self-righteous. Naïve. Foolish. She's had enough.

"I have enough of this conversation. I want you to leave my sight – and do not come back until I wish you to do so."

It's a royal decree and Elsa responds with obeisance, not a single argument raised. "As you wish, Your Highness." She bows deep, then rises and exits the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Anna stares at the fire for a long while, then bends down and picks a book at random, starting where she's left off. If only to keep the darkness of her thoughts at bay.


	5. the woman, not the stories

**5.**

Anna's tried everything she can think of to remove the bracelet. Her attempts have ranged from submerging her hand in near boiling water, to prying it off with a thin piece of metal between the bracelet and her skin, to soaping it to death, to tracking down a random passing maid to play tug-o-war with her hand. The maid fled, and that was that. Even went to Janus, the trusted royal blacksmith. He merely took a glance at it, grunted, then went off and returned the largest pair of scissors Anna has ever seen in her nineteen years of life. And well, it was her turn to flee then.

Emotionally drained, she rests her forehead flat against the dining table, feeling the coolness of the wood. Outside the window a pair of birds chirp merrily, path of flight intertwining with each other. She angles her head towards the window, wanting to glare at them, thinking of how unfair it is that they're so carefree with their acrobatics in the air while she's utterly grounded on earth. Stuck with a bond that seems more like a mistake with each passing moment. She wants to glare, but doesn't have the energy, and so she stares blankly outside, noting the movement of the clouds and the slight sway of leaves ruffled by the wind.

"It's a beautiful day."

Lifting her head, Anna straightens and looks towards the direction of the sound, sees her mother with her usual smile of self-amusement, holding a stack of documents in her arms. Anna resumes staring at the window again, this time with her cheek resting on her palm.

"Still sulking, I see," Cecile says, pulling out the chair at the other end of the table and primly smoothening her skirt before seating herself, setting the documents gently on the table, not a paper out of order. "I swear you and your father are becoming more and more similar to each other as you grow older. And we've hoped so much that you will inherit my temperament…" She sighs; dramatic. "Alas."

"I have your hair," Anna says, giving the very thick pile of documents a sideway glance.

"And my youthful penchant to fall headfirst into trouble, it seems."

"Not by my own will."

There's rustling as Cecile shifts through the papers, picks on seemingly at random and peers at it. Then discards it and picks another one. "I said the same thing, and they laughed me out of the court. Really taught my young self a sense of humility that day."

Anna looks at Cecile looking at her paper. "Um. What did you do? Do I even want to know?"

"Chased a charming stableboy with a stick for hurting a well-known Viscount's wife. I thought they were wrestling. They weren't. The stableboy's head rolled, the Viscount's wife committed suicide from shame, and the Viscount himself decided it was my father's fault and launched a rebellion which lasted five years and five days. It was quite an event, really."

"What." And sometimes a simple question can turn into the biggest regret of her day. Anna reminds herself to never ask Cecile innocuous questions ever again. That somehow _never_ turn out quite right. "Wrestling… aside… uhm… what happened to you after?"

"Nothing, because I was the Princess and dearly beloved by all," Cecile says, gaze still trained at the paper she's reading. She lets out a small chuckle – no doubt as another one of those ridiculous petitions by a nobleman with more money than sense – and sets it aside. Then folds her hands together, fingers intertwining and looks straight at Anna. "Take it as a parable if you wish. I think you have an inclination of what I'm trying to suggest, yes?"

"I don't," Anna says, finding herself unconsciously tugging at the bracelet on her wrist. Forcing herself to stop, she resorts to resting her palms flat with her fingers splayed, each hand firmly on the other side the invisible line that runs between them. Still, she starts to tap the nail of her index finger against the table, tap tap tap. Tap. Her left hand.

It stops only when Cecile reaches forward and clasps her hand over Anna's wrist, right above the bracelet. "You're agitated. I don't need to ask why, do I?"

"No; I…" Anna starts to think of rebuttals, trying to piece together white lies that say she's all right and it's nothing really so don't worry, mama. She wants to say that what has happened between her and Elsa that night is strictly private, but how can she, when it ties to the kingdom and when there's nothing Cecile won't already know just by simply seeing the expression on Anna's face alone? People tell Anna she wears her heart on her sleeve. They're not wrong. She sighs. "Elsa and I had a fight. We haven't spoken to each other since." Actively avoids each other. Well, Anna does: staying flush within her boundary of six hundred steps, orbiting around Elsa like earth to the sun. It gets tiring.

"Because of what happened in Alexander's estate?" Cecile asks gently, squeezing Anna's wrist tight. Her touch is comforting.

"…yes."

"And you think she is in the wrong?"

"Her, Lord Gervais and Jan. I know they are." She remembers the man's twitching body on the spikes and once again she has to force the guilt and sickness from spilling forth. "They went behind my back. Killed all those people. _Our _people, mama. How can I _not _be angry? How can you not?"

"The parable, Anna," says Cecile simply.

God; Elsa and Cecile. Why are the women in Anna's life so fond of talking in circles? It's frustrating and it does nothing but rouse the flames anger she has tried so hard to smother these past few days. Still, Cecile _always_ has a point, and Anna knows from previous experience to always listen to her, no matter how pointless it may seem then. (And maybe Elsa does too, but she pushes that thought down as soon as it bubbles up – because Elsa doesn't.)

Trying her best to not show her annoyance, Anna takes several deep breaths and says, "don't mistake extramarital affairs as wrestling and start chasing people with sticks?"

"Well, that's one. Try again, perhaps?"

Anna frowns. "Don't mix Viscount's wives with stableboys because it'll start a rebellion?"

"I think that stableboy is eyeing you, Anna. What's his name? Henry?"

"Who?"

"Another try."

Rolling her eyes, Anna throws her free hand into the air. "Don't cheat on your husband and _then _kill yourself. Or if you do, do it discreetly? The affair, I mean. Not the suicide. Actually look; I don't know. I give up."

"Don't cheat on your husband at all, rather. But no, that's not what I'm quite angling at."

Circles, circles and more circles. As if she's walking into a labyrinth with no exit. "Then what _exactly_ are you trying to tell me, mama?"

"Oh, I do like that tone. You'll do well to practice it for when you ascend to the throne, Anna. Very queenly," Cecile says, laughing airily. "The point is, love, is that being royalty affords you more leeway than others. I wasn't punished because it was within my right to be privy of my subjects' lives and interfere, should I choose."

"That just—that just sounds like voyeurism."

"For a single Princess to stumble upon a scene like that? Yes; it could be categorised as voyeurism – but if the same were to be done by a King with his vast network of spies? It's called internal affairs. Definition is fluid, Anna. If Elsa were to have done that by her lonesomeness she would have been branded a criminal and executed before dawn. However, she didn't. She did it under Alexander's banner, and by virtue, under yours. And that is as much of a crime as carrying out a royal edict is. Do you understand? There is no black and white, just context."

"No," Anna says. She starts to withdraw her hand but Cecile's grasp remains firm. "There might not be white and black, but there _is _right and wrong. And what she did is wrong and there's no denying that. What does context matter when repercussions call for more than three dozen senselessly killed? You can twist words all you want – and I know you're good at that, mama, but it won't change my mind."

Cecile smiles, but there's no amusement behind it. Just muted sadness from the downturned angle of her brows. "You are so much your father's daughter."

"And is that such a bad thing?" Anna asks, a hint of defiance creeping in. Because her father is kind and just, and there is nothing wrong with both of those qualities. Even when his kingdom is spiralling downwards and he's called soft and cowardly behind his back—

_Ah._

Her expression must have changed then, because Cecile then says, "Loathe as you might, I think you start to understand. You are your father's daughter and nothing can change that. But remember that you're mine, too, and I would appreciate it if you don't reject your other qualities out of hand. Elsa is your leeway just as your title as a Princess is. You'd do well to utilise them. Only you can."

"But—"

Cecile holds her free hand, cutting Anna's words short. She then lifts the hand that's on Anna's wrist and starts flipping through the documents, settling on a piece right at the end. Small and plain. She then slides it out, placing it between them. "Read it."

Taking the letter, Anna obliges. _Bodies collected. Time, _it reads. Short and vague, it makes perfect sense. She looks up from the message. "What do you want me to do?"

"Leeway, Anna. Sleep on it, but you _must_ decide on an action and resolve this. Elias doesn't yet know, but you have my permission to act freely. I can promise that there will be no interference from Alexander nor myself this time. Take whatever resources you need, but you'll need to act fast. While it's still fresh."

While the bodies are still fresh, and the fear fresher still.

"Mama—"

But Cecile is no longer paying attention to her, having started on her documents again. "Sleep on it. For now, I have a great view and many more documents to admire. Take your leave. I trust you."

Trust. A heavy word for a mere Princess like her. Anna wonders if this is what Elsa has felt, to be summarily dismissed with no chance to explain her thoughts.

**-X-X-X-X-X-**

Following Cecile's advice, Anna decides to sleep on it. Or tries to. She's been lying on her bed for what seems to be hours, tossing and turning, burning the gilded patterns of the ceiling into her mind, counting the individual threads on her blanket, counting imaginary sheep. But most of all she thinks of those tribes in the mountains and the forty-six men they've lost. She can backtrack and issue an apology, but that's the same as saying, hey, I'm sorry I drowned your puppy in a stream, it was yapping and I didn't know what to do, apology accepted? Only worse, so much worse, and there's no analogy that can aptly describe what Elsa has done to them. Even the cruellest of armies do not desecrate the remains of their enemies so.

She wonders how the men picking up the remains of their fallen have felt – collecting pieces of flesh scattered on the ground, hoisting their friends off icy spikes towering high into the sky, utterly cruel and utterly inhumane. She wonders if they used wagons even if they will fall apart in the rocky terrain, or if they've simply fit everything into sacks and hoisted them on their shoulders. But why does it matter what mode of transportation they used? What matters is that there are lives and bodies to reassemble. What matters is not having anger override fear. What matters is not letting it come to that, if she's as much of his father's daughter as Cecile says.

She needs to talk to Elsa.

Tossing the blanket aside, she props herself up by the elbows and slides off the bed. She then takes a discarded cloak off the floor, fastens it around her shoulders and exits her room, heading straight to Elsa's newly appointed room, right next to her own. She knocks thrice and waits. Then knocks harder. And harder.

"Elsa?"

No answer. Okay. Elsa is either ignoring her, is really asleep or just elsewhere. If it's the first two there's no use breaking her knuckles over the door, so she decides to try the library next. It makes sense, because she knows from interrogating the maid that Elsa has spent a ridiculous amount of time holed in the library, even when logically speaking no one should be in any library when it's a scant few hours before the break a dawn. She tries anyway, because she doesn't know Elsa well enough to hazard another guess, and there's so many places one can go to when there's a six hundred step boundary.

Elsa isn't in the library. Sighing, Anna slides the door back shut and pads towards the kitchen, which is thankfully still within her range. Not that she knows exactly what her range is anymore with the tether absent from sight. Even her awareness from the bond isn't helping – the only thing she can sense is that Elsa's somewhere within the castle – something that is much too vague to bank on. It's not like they have telepathy, thank god for that. And thank god the kitchen is on ground level, because that makes everything easier.

Glancing around to make sure it's rightfully empty of humans and rodents alike, she swipes a few cinnamon rolls from the huge prep counter at the centre of the kitchen and wraps it a cloth she finds in one of the cupboards. Trying the ends of the cloth to form a makeshift handle, she slings the bundle of rolls over her shoulder and heads to the window.

Once there, she grabs the window pane using both hands and hefts up, creaking it open inch by inch by inch until her arms give up. Whoever is tasked with oiling these things clearly needs a good wage cut, and why is it even made of iron? What happened to wood? _Really? _Anyway, that's not important. Folding her arms, she stands back and observes the opening. A tight squeeze. It'll be an awkward scuttle through, but it'll do. It's not like there's anyone to witness the utter lack of grace she's about to conduct herself with. So she pokes her head outside, squeezes her shoulders past the narrow width and pushes herself forward using her – oh damn it. She's forgotten to wear shoes. Well, whatever. She pushes forward with her bare feet against the cold stone floor and pops outward, catching herself short of doing a cartwheel by ramming her palms onto the grass.

And ends up in a cartwheel anyway.

Or half of it, landing smack flat on her back. Very unlike a Princess, but well, no one's seeing. It's not like sneaking out at night is very princessy in the first place, and she supposes she can wait until morning to speak with Elsa, but she's the type who can't stand having something niggling in her mind. She's the type who needs to resolve things right _now_, and even a few more hours of waiting will drive her insane. She doesn't even know what the end goal of the talk will be but she can't help it. She really can't.

Still on her back, She takes a few moments to appreciate the stars. She then rises, dusts herself and starts her walk. A straight line. It's the only way she knows of finding Elsa short of rousing the servants and doing a six hundred step wide search. Not a huge distance, but they do have a lot of redundant rooms. Empty room with two chairs and a painting number eleven being a prime example. Plus she has a feeling that when Elsa doesn't want to be found, she won't be found. So a straight line it is; a foot after another.

All flat ground with sparse trees, it doesn't take long at all for her ears to ring. Knowing full well what comes next, she contemplates on stopping, but shakes her head and resumes her march. It's not enough. Simply not urgent enough. So she soldiers on, and soon the pounding in her head starts. It comes mildly enough at first, the kind of dull pain one usually experiences after a moderate amount of wine before bed. That goes on for a dozen or so steps, then the intensity increases, each throb more and more frequent. It's no longer wine, but a hammer pounding on her skull with each step. She feels like hitting her head against a tree, because that seems infinitely better than this.

Another step. Another. God it _hurts_. She clutches her head with both hands and kneels, breathing heavily. The ground's spinning and she feels like throwing up and the incessant pounding – the pounding she shouldn't have done this what was she thinking _god._ Lack of coherent thought. She's reached the limit and there's nothing she can do but wipe the tears, tear the makeshift bag off her shoulder and draw her knees in, burying her face between her arms.

Immobile, she waits. And waits. Each second and each wave of pain feel like an eternity and a half. But still, she waits. Because she knows Elsa will come. She will.

And she does. There's the sound of horse's rapid gallop in the distance, from the direction of the castle. Lifting her head from the comfort of her arms, she sees a white steed running straight at her. Ice. She doesn't need to look at the rider to know who the beast belongs to.

"_Anna!_" Elsa's voice is hoarse, and even in her state as it is, Anna can sense the panic and urgency from that single word alone.

The horse stops a dozen paces short of her position in that sudden lack of motion that Elsa's beasts always do, and Elsa dismounts and almost falls, stumbling over her own feet. She places a hand on the statue, steadying herself, then immediately goes over to Anna, pace unsteady. There's nothing graceful about her motions, but it only makes her seem more human.

Her face is twisted into concern and something else, and wordlessly she kneels besides Anna and pulls her into an embrace, arms securely wrapped around Anna's shoulders. Normally Anna will find this surprising, perhaps jump back but her brain's still scrambled and the comfort of human touch is sorely needed. Wrapping her arms around Elsa, she draws her in tighter and rests her forehead on the crook of Elsa's neck. The harshness of her breathing starts to subside along with the poundings on her head, and soon everything's quiet again but for the sound of crickets in spring.

She feels a tickle and realises that Elsa is stroking her hair. Long, gentle strokes. Cecile used to do that to Anna, still does – but it's different. It's different and familiar, just like Elsa's scent. She smells warm and fresh and nice, and it's so familiar it's almost nostalgic. Like she's trying to reach for memories so faint and translucent only to have them dance away as soon as they touch the tips of her fingers. It's baffling. Lifting her head, she loosens her arms and is about to ask if they've really not met before when Elsa withdraws, probably misconstruing her actions as a signal that the embrace should end.

And Anna realises too, that she shouldn't be hugging a woman she's deemed as a monster only a scant few nights ago. Shouldn't have found the hug so pleasant. She shouldn't – but she does. And does that not denote that Elsa cares? But she always does, doesn't she? Cares enough to check Anna's armour thoroughly before the battle, to ask her to stay behind so that she doesn't see Elsa's cruelty. Cares enough to immediately rush to Anna's side as soon as she feels the—the pain. But doesn't that also imply that Elsa is only looking for her contractor and by extension her own wellbeing? It's confusing, these jumbled thoughts. And Anna does what she can only think of: ask. Even when the chance of getting an answer is slim, she needs to. It buries deep in her mind like a tick, and she needs to dig it out.

"Why do you care so much?" Anna sees Elsa's surprise at the sudden question, and decides to rephrase her words. "Or rather, do you care about me at all or are you just looking out for yourself?"

God. That just makes her sound like a petulant, self-important child who was practically shouting care for me! _Care for me! I demand you to!_ It's the wrong phrasing with the wrong connotation, but that's the best she can do at such a short notice when there's still a residue of pain underneath her newfound lucidity.

Elsa seems to take it the right way, however, because scarcely a beat passes before she looks straight at Anna and says, "I would sooner give my life than let any harm come to you, Anna. That is the absolute truth."

Elsa's hair catches the gleam of moonlight as she shifts to wipe a trail of mud off her cheek, and Anna thinks of how imperfect she looks right then. She's a far cry from the woman at the beach with the perfect dress and the perfectly coiffed hair and perfect elegance. Right now Elsa is anything but, with her hair frazzled from the wind and the flecks of mud spattering her khaki breeches. Even her boots aren't properly buckled, and she's skipped a button on her blouse. She's still trying to wipe the mud off, but only manages to smear it further. It makes her look utterly _human_, and Anna wants to swallow her accusations down, but she can't. They're having a talk, aren't they? And talk they will. Because no matter how mundane Elsa looks then, it still won't erase the things she's done.

"Why do you care so much?" Anna asks again. "It's unnatural to care so much for a person you've just met, even when we're bound together like this. It doesn't make sense."

"…is that the reason you behaved so foolishly? To ask me this?" Elsa says. Having given up with the mud, she drops her hands down on top of her ankle, with her sitting cross legged just as Anna is. "Your sulking is turning into self-harm and I won't have any of that. Do you understand me?"

"There's no self-harm intended. I just needed to talk to you."

"While barefooted?" Elsa asks with an expression of disbelief.

Anna looks down, sees the mud and blades of grass caking her feet. It _does_ make her look kind of unstable, doesn't it? "I'm not crazy."

"I'm not insinuating you are, Anna. But no one in their right mind would go and—do what you did. Does it…" Once again Elsa lifts her hand and it lingers in the empty space between them, just like the time with the rabbit and the fire and the knowledge that she has suffered more cruelty in the hands of her contractors than Anna can ever imagine. Clenching her hand tight, she withdraws it and folds it over her stomach, as if she's trying to protect herself from something. As if touching Anna will burn her. She shakes her head. "No, of course it does."

The pain. "I know it hurts you too, Els. I'm sorry."

"You could have knocked."

"I did. Thrice; as hard as I could. There was no answer and naturally I just guessed you were probably ignoring me or somewhere else entirely."

"And this is the only way you could think of to get my attention?"

When worded that way, it really doesn't sound like a particularly smart idea. "Yes?"

With a sigh, Elsa says, "I was not ignoring you. I simply followed your order by staying out of your sight, but I would never shut you out if you came to me."

That. It was something Anna's said in a moment of anger. And well, she's paid the price for it, hasn't she?

"I was just… angry," Anna says, ripping off a blade of grass and flicking it off. It flutters lazily to the ground. "I had a talk with mama this morning. Like you, she likes to talk in circles, but uhm." She pauses, gathering her thoughts. Elsa doesn't interrupt, simply watching her intently with her head tilted. "She said something that basically boils down to the end justifying the means."

"And you don't agree." A statement.

"I don't. What you did was still terrible, Elsa. And no amount of justification can change that."

"I'm sorry—"

"Please. Don't say that unless you mean it."

Because apologies without any heart behind them are useless. Actions speak louder than words, they might say, but for Anna words too carry their weight in gold.

"You misunderstand," Elsa says. "I'm not apologising for my action, but for the hurt it causes you."

"…oh." It makes sense now, because why would someone so morally ambiguous as Elsa apologise so much? It's _Anna's _feelings she's apologising for. "I don't know what to feel about that." She really doesn't. She _could_ summon the memories again, relive them to fan the embers of her anger. But anger is emotionally draining and ultimately useless. She might end up sending Elsa away again, but what will that accomplish? Right now they need to have a proper talk like adults, align their moral compasses. Even when she doesn't know what to say.

So instead she pinches the fabric of her cloak between her fingers and leans forward to wipe the streak of mud off Elsa's cheek. Elsa's eyes widen, but she mutters a soft thank you and accepts Anna's ministrations without another word. It takes several swipes, but finally Elsa's skin is pristine again. Satisfied with her work, Anna lets go of her cloak and folds her arms. "There. Now I no longer feel ridiculous talking to a woman who looked like a five year old after roughhousing outside with her brothers."

"You're an odd woman, Anna," Elsa says. "One moment you're angry enough to banish me, and another you're treating me so tenderly. I don't understand. Do you not hate me still?"

Anna shrugs. "Don't know. I don't think you're a bad person. Clearly you believe that what you're doing is for my greater good and I get that. I really do. You, Lord Gervais and Jan. You're all looking for me and I really appreciate it."

"But?"

"Well, I've… thought a lot about it. Tossed and turned about it in my bed, to be precise. These past few days were killing me, to be honest—do you want a cinnamon roll?"

"What."

Ignoring Elsa's baffled look, Anna reaches to the side, taking the bag with the rolls and unties it. "A cinnamon roll. I need to gather my thought, otherwise I tend to ramble and papa told me that just won't fly in court so I usually like to eat while… oh hey I'm rambling." She holds out a roll. "Also I brought this because you're also like a five year old in your absolute refusal to regulate your own meal times. When was the last time you ate?"

"Last night," Elsa says in a voice that suggests she's lying. She still hasn't made a move to take the roll.

Anna wiggles it "Uh-huh. Sure. Take it."

Very reluctantly, Elsa does, and they eat in silence with only the stars and their own thoughts as their companion. Anna takes the chance to rearrange her words, what she's trying to get at. There's always a point to each talk, and she thinks she has an idea of what she's trying to achieve. No self-righteousness — even though the hurt from accusation still runs deep — no blaming. Just a compromise.

"She used to do this," Elsa says, breaking her chain of thought. "Drag me out to camp in the middle of nowhere, force food down my throat whenever I'm too absorbed in my duties."

"She?"

They're making eye contact, but Elsa's eyes has a sheen to it that suggests she may be talking to herself as much as she's talking to Anna.

"The person you remind me of," Elsa says. Mindlessly, she's tearing her roll apart, scattering them for the early bird. "I too, have given this much thought. If we were to work, I will have to give you answers. Not all, but just enough insight into myself as a human being, because I know there are times that you have considered me as anything but."

Anna looks away, feeling the guilt creeping into her gut. Monster. That's what she's called Elsa. "I didn't mean to. I just had – am having difficulty thinking of your actions as something _anyone _would do. It's so—"

"Inhuman?" Elsa suggests.

"…yes."

"Look at me, Anna." Anna does. "Please understand that I've lived for far too long to still remember the gravity of taking another's life. I knew it would affect you somewhat, but I had no idea how deeply. Sometimes… sometimes I forget. That was why I tried to avoid looking at you during the fight, because your expression spoke volumes, and it's a distraction I didn't need in a situation so crucial."

The roll feels cold and rubbery in Anna's hands. She can't imagine living long enough to be able to compare killing with the mundane tasks of everyday nature.

"But you're not sorry for that."

"Only for the effect it has on you."

"…I see." Anna wants to say something again, demand for more clarification, but did they not beat the dead horse enough? She already knows Elsa's sorry, even for the wrong reasons, but Anna also knew it wasn't something she could change overnight. She'll fix it, fix Elsa, but they're baby steps: taken slowly and methodically. Now, Anna decides she wants to know about this woman who's never left Elsa's mind. "Was she the kind of person who would have condoned what you did?"

"No; she would have banished me out of the castle, stolen all my chocolate and never speak to me again," Elsa says. Her smile small from fond remembrance, and Anna wonders exactly what kind of woman Elsa's love was, long gone but still able to make Elsa smile like that. "I suppose it was a different time we lived in – wars and the moral dilemmas that come with them were never a big part of our lives."

"How long ago was this?"

"From when I was free of this," Elsa says. Her hand brushes her collar, then she resumes tearing what's left of the roll into nothing.

From an era Anna doesn't know, then. "So not a contractor."

"No."

Anna takes a bite and chews slowly. Then swallows and discards the left over for animals to eat. She no longer has any appetite. "Were you in love with her?"

"Yes," Elsa says without missing a beat. With so much conviction she can see it in her eyes.

"…were you together?"

"No." And the relief Anna feels after that single word is so immediate and so real she wonders what's wrong with her. It's an unrequited love and that's nothing to cheer about. She feels like a terrible person. "Tell me, Anna, were you ever enamoured by the thought of a Prince sweeping you off your feet? The kind of love that only exists in fairytales and the lives of those truly fortunate."

Rubbing her jaw, Anna gives it a thought. Has she ever? Of course she has. Like any other children, she's grown up with beloved fairytales with Princes and Princesses and one true love. "I think we all did, once," she says as she shifts positions, once again drawing her knees in. "I used to dream about a Prince sweeping me onto his white horse, and together we'd ride into the sunset, all the way to his beautiful kingdom. But it didn't take long for me to outgrow it. No King or Queen worth their salt will send their son to woo a Princess from a small kingdom like ours, smack dab in the middle of three volatile kingdoms. They're afraid of Corona turning into a warzone, and well, I guess they're right." She frowns. "Wait; what does this have anything to do with her?"

"She too, dreamt of that." Oh. "She loved me dearly but it was different from the kind of love described in fairytales. She found her Prince with the white horse, even if he wasn't the right one for her. She then found her one true love in a man who was nothing resembling a Prince, and they married and lived happily."

There's an ever after missing from that story, but Anna doesn't dare ask. She's afraid of Elsa shutting down again. It's much like tip-toeing through broken glass with Elsa. So she asks instead: "was she a Princess?"

"Yes."

"And is that why I remind you of her?"

"Among other things," Elsa says. And Anna realises her smile isn't only from fond remembrance. It's also bittersweet and sad, and she doesn't know which emotion weigh more heavily. There's no ever after because there's no happy ending. She wonders where Elsa's place was between the Prince and the man who was anything but.

The words die between them, partly because Anna's afraid of stepping at broken glass, and partly because there's nothing left to say. She stares at her feet and wiggles her toes, listening to the chirps of crickets.

"And I hope that answers the question," Elsa says again, shattering the silence. "About why I care so much."

Anna rests her chin on her knees. "It does. Thank you for volunteering a glimpse of your past, even though I'm not quite happy that you only care because I remind you of the woman you loved. But I suppose beggars can't be choosers."

"And you said you weren't jealous."

Anna stares at Elsa blankly. Then realises from Elsa's smirk that it's one of her not-jokes. Not funny in the slightest, but Anna laughs anyway. She feels the strain lifting from her shoulders. "You are _so _not funny, Els. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Not to my face, no. I think they're afraid I might hurl a barrage of snow at them if they do. I'm _very_ proud of my sense of humour, just so you know."

"And just so you know, your sense of humour is terrible and it's time someone pushes you down your high horse."

"I think I did that on my own accord already," Elsa says, eyeing the giant horse in the field. "Thanks to you."

Anna cringes. "Yeah… about that…"

"Feeling better now?"

"A bit. Though I think I should ask you the same question, too. It hurt you as much as it did me, didn't it?" Elsa nods, and Anna winces internally. It's one thing to be stupid enough to hurt yourself, but hurting others while at it? She should've thought this further. "So sorry, Els. How do you feel now?"

"Just a slight headache. Nothing major," Elsa says. It doesn't escape Anna that her face is still somewhat pallid. "Imagine my surprise when I found myself being rudely awakened by something that feels like a sack of bricks to my head. I very nearly drowned."

Drowned? "Uh, were you swimming or something?" Do her powers also extend to conjuring a pool? Because there are certainly no streams or lakes around to nearly drown in.

For a moment Elsa stays silent, staring fixedly at the spot above Anna's shoulder. Then she says, "it's getting early. I think we should go."

"I don't think so." Having used this diversion tactic herself countless times to wiggle out of particularly difficult conversations, Anna knows exactly what Elsa's trying to do. She's hiding something. "Not until you tell me exactly what you were doing."

"I…"

"Yeees?"

Elsa looks away, and if it weren't Elsa, Anna would've pegged her behaviour as sheepish. "I fell asleep in the bath."

Anna immediately claps her hand over her mouth. "Pfft—"

"Don't you _dare__,_" Elsa says, shooting her a glare that might have been scary if not for the image of her drowning in a _bathtub. _Who falls asleep during _baths_ anyway? Certainly not someone who looks and talks and walks like Elsa, but she did, and it takes everything in Anna's power not to burst out in hysterics.

"Sorry—it's just that I would've never expected—hahaaaa—okay. I'm calm now." She takes a few deep breaths, trying her darndest best to smother any laughter threatening to escape, because Elsa has taken a look that's gone from mildly annoyed to outright murderous. "Right. Definitely calm. So that's why you're dressed like that. Now it makes sense."

Elsa narrows her eyes and raises her brow. "Like what? I'm dressed decently. Someone who prances around barefooted has no right to make a jab at my attire."

Anna ignores the reminder of her lack of footwear. "Yeah… if you call skipping a button – actually, you skipped two – decent."

Elsa has indeed missed two. Apparently she's also forgotten to tuck her blouse in, one side of it hanging much lower than the other. Looking down, Elsa finally notices her state of disarray and frowns. Then she reaches towards the topmost button and… and starts unbuttoning her blouse.

Anna's eyes nearly pop out of their sockets, watching with her mouth hanging open as Elsa unbuttons the second one. Then the third. The blouse's opening gets precariously lower and lower and Anna can see that Elsa isn't wearing—oh god of course she's not. She was bathing and probably didn't have time to assemble a complete set of clothes. Probably even jumped off the bloody window in her haste to get to Anna. Four buttons down and Anna launches forward with all her might, grabbing a hold of both of Elsa's hands. That immediately stops Elsa's motions in track. Elsa looks at her, and Anna looks at the horse.

"Indecent exposure, Elsa!" she says at the horse. "_Indecent exposure!_" Throughout all this Anna has forgotten that during their stay at Gervais's cottage, she's learned that Elsa is the type of person to disrobe whenever she pleases, whether Anna is in the room or not. Much like the lack self-preservation and the penchant for murder, it seems like indecent exposure is just another thing added to the list of things to fix about Elsa. Goddamned people of undetermined age nowadays, don't they have a sense of decency? She must also be the type of person to sleep naked, although thankfully that's never happened around Anna. Yet. Hopefully never.

"What's wrong?"

"What's _wrong? _You're not wearing any—I can see—just— _blouse!_"

"I like blouses," says Elsa, as if that's the point of this all. "I would wear my dress, but you dislike it – I could see it from your expression in the library."

"I like your dress, it's just that—wait, that's not the point. _Okay_." Once again Anna takes several deep breaths, getting somewhat desperate. Still looking at the horse, she lets go of Elsa's hand. "I need you to redo your buttons." Elsa does. Only she takes it the wrong way and Anna has to stop her again before she reaches the seventh button. "Up! I mean up!"

For someone with such a horrible sense of humour for the lewd, Elsa can be a blockhead at times. Now wonder she and Jan are already at a first-name basis.

"I still have a button to fix."

"It doesn't matter! Just redo it! Upwards!" Feeling Elsa's hands starting to move again, Anna relinquishes her hold and stares straight up. Beautiful, beautiful stars. "Tell me when you're done."

"…I'm done."

Risking a peek down, Anna sees that Elsa has re-buttoned her blouse to the very top and exhales in relief. "Thank god."

"Did you like what you see?"

"_Anyway!"_ That horrible deadpan humour again. When will it _end? _Even though she can still feel the heat still lingering in her cheeks, it's infinitely better than the tumult before. She decides to drive the talk forward, if only for the relative safety of anything not involving _that._ "Wardrobe malfunctions aside – and we do need to have talk about indecent exposure later, but anyway, that's neither here nor there."

"There was nothing indecent about my lack of exposure."

Ignoring that blatantly false statement, Anna continues, "I needed to talk to you because it's been burrowing in my mind ever since then, and I'm glad I did. You shared a piece of yourself and I think I understand you a bit better. Though I _must _stress that I still don't agree with your methods, but what's done is done, and I feel that I should stop lingering in the past if I want to move forward. So there's some ground rules I'd like to lay before we do anything else. Whether you like it or not, you're going to accept them."

"You've clearly thought much about this," Elsa says, her tone approving. "Tell me those rules."

"One: never go behind my back ever again, do you understand me?"

"Yes."

"Two: we try my way first. Always. Unless I'm as foolish as everyone seem to think I am and my decision will cause irreparable damage to this kingdom. Then you're free to mutiny and deal with the problem as you like. Just be prepared to give thorough justification later."

Her mother's right; she has to be firm. She's been given Cecile's trust and she won't disappoint. And the first thing she needs to do is keep Elsa in line. A weapon is only as good as its wielder, after all, and Elsa _is _her weapon. Just like Elsa has no choice but to accept the rules she's listed, she also doesn't have any choice but to wield Elsa as she's promised her father during the trial. Context and repercussions.

"I can make a jab about how you're always foolish but—"

"—but it'll just be in bad taste."

"Correct. I understand and agree to those rules. I will no longer move hastily unless it's absolutely necessary."

"Good," Anna says. "Good."

"Does this mean I'm forgiven?"

"Not quite. There's still the matter of those tribes we have to deal with. The bodies have been collected, and I think I have a plan, but we'll have to move very soon. We'll see how you fare then."

"Like a master and her dog, you're tightening my leash."

Anna's jaw drops and she sputters. "What! No no no! I absolute _do not_ mean it like that! Oh my god you're totally taking it the wrong way. I said we weren't—you're not—"

"I jest, Anna. Please try not to explain yourself to death," Elsa says with a chuckle. She then rises and extends her hand. "Come now. I'm glad that the doubt in your mind that have led you to breach our boundary has been allayed. I think we should head back to the castle. Dawn is breaking. If you have anything left to say, I think we can continue this conversation during lunch, because I intend to sleep in until then."

"Ah—yeah. That makes sense. Let's do that." Still feeling the heat on her cheeks, Anna takes Elsa's hand and hoists herself up, slightly unsteady with her bare feet against the ground. She reminds herself to clean them properly and take a bath before she sleeps. She then lets go of Elsa's hand and bends to pick up the bundle of cinnamon rolls and reties it over her shoulder. She rubs her eyes, finally feeling the onset of drowsiness.

When she turns, the horse has once again come to life with Elsa already mounted, waiting. Pale and beautiful, both the rider and the steed. They remind her of the Princes in fairytales. Elsa strokes its mane and gives it a pat. She smiles, and with the dark crimson of the sky and the beginning of the sun peeking behind her, Anna finds the image breathtaking.

Anna pads towards the horse and mounts it with Elsa's help, taking her place behind Elsa. Seemingly without any prompting, they begin moving, the horse's trot slow and casual. Somewhere in the distance a rooster crows.

"Anna?"

"Yeah?" Anna says distractedly, still trying to figure out what to do with her hands. She decides that the best thing to do is to let them fall to her sides, limp.

"Do you want to build a snowman?"

What? "Uh, it's still spring? And too early in the morning? Why so suddenly?"

"A pity," Elsa says simply. Nothing else.

Odd. So odd. But Anna doesn't have the willpower to inquire further. The breeze and the pace seem to have filled her eyelids with lead and she leans forward, wrapping her arms tight against Elsa's waist, head resting on Elsa's shoulder, already forgetting about the talk and where to put her hands. The pull of slumber is strong, and she'll think about everything when she wakes up.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: In this chapter: where nothing much happens but is still somewhat crucial for character development. Also thanks for the reviews and follows guys, love you all and stuff. Good guesses about Elsa's origin, though. I think only a few of you came close - but I've dropped enough hints in this chapter to give you more ideas.**


	6. tells herself it's trust

**6.**

Pulling the last strands of her hair into a ponytail, Anna tightens the ribbon and examines herself in the mirror. Everything seems to be in place. Riding breeches, check. Cuirass, check. Vambrace, check. Belt, check. Boots… untied. With a sigh, she bends down and ties the laces, tugging once, twice to make sure they're properly done and straightens again.

"Going for a spar, Princess Anna?"

Turning away from the mirror, Anna sees Eva, the maid she's only learned the name of during their failed attempt at tug-o-war and smiles. "Something like that," she says.

A plate of sandwiches in her hand and Anna's sword in the other, Eva gives the bracelet a wary glance. "You aren't going to make me do that again, are you?"

Her speech is informal, and Anna likes it that way. It's no secret within the castle that Anna likes it that way. Formality should only be used in the court and arrangements with those pompous nobles, and she'd like it to remain that way. Because they're all family, her and the castle staff, and family should be treated as such. "Nope. It's enough that I scared you enough to make you run away. Kinda hurts me that you don't want to play tug-o-war with me, though."

"Maybe with a rope next time instead of your hand?" suggests Eva.

Anna likes her already. No blanching and sputtering at her joke about hurting her feelings. That's the way it should be. Besides the fleeing part, that is. "I'll hold your word do that," Anna says. She extends her hand. "My sword, please."

Stepping forward, Eva hands her the sword and Anna straps it onto her belt. She then takes one of the sandwiches from the plate. Ham and cheese. Best thing ever after chocolate. "By the way, do you know where Elsa is?"

Eva frowns. "Elsa?"

Ah. Not the gossiping sort, then.

"Yeah; the new arrival. Around this tall?" Anna indicates the air above her head. "Blonde? Pretty but really scary? Walks around like something's stuck up— very good posture, I mean. Facial expression like a brick wall?"

"…a brick…"

"Yep."

Tilting her head, Eva seems to be pondering, then Anna sees the sudden epiphany and Eva nods and says, "the lady. Yes; I think I know who you're talking about, Princess. I believe she's still in the dining hall with Queen Cecile."

Huh. Aren't they being friendly. Anna wonders if they're plotting behind her back again but squashes the suspicion. She might not trust Elsa, but she trusts her mother implicitly. When Cecile says there won't be any meddling, there won't.

"What about pa—father?"

"From what I've overheard, the Queen mentioned that he's visiting Lord Gervais's estate."

Then he knows. Though to what extent remains to be seen. It makes it all the more important that she does this right. Kind as he is, his wrath is terrifying – and it's inevitable that he'll call on her to justify Elsa's actions, and that's something she wants to delay as long as possible.

Anna takes a bite and chews. Having swallowed, she says, "I want you to tell Elsa to meet me at the courtyard as soon as she's finished eating – and make sure she _has_ eaten instead of just rearranging the food on her plate." Or god forbid, trying to feed birds with her food again. "Ask mother if you're in any doubt. Also, tell her to dress for a ride. Elsa that is, not my mother."

Eva curtsies, and Anna swoops in and saves the plate of sandwiches when it starts to slide sideways. They both cringe at the near-miss.

"Right. Um," Anna says, looking at the plate she's holding. "I'll be at the courtyard, then. Oh and tell the blacksmith I want Joan fixed and back as soon as possible. And please don't curtsy again."

She loved Joan the pot. She really did.

**-X-X-X-X-X-**

Ankles crossed and elbows resting on the stone ledge overlooking the training grounds, Anna takes the last bite from her third sandwich and munches distractedly as she observes the men's morning practice. Wooden dummies, sparring matches, rough wrestling on the ground. Their regiment lacks structure, but they're trying hard – especially after the attack on the beach. And among them, Robert with the stump of his missing arm bandaged. He looks a bit pallid but otherwise well, strutting around, giving orders, correcting forms even as he's still sporting winces and a slight limp. A one-armed warrior may be useless on the battlefield, but she's glad that he's reassembling himself and taking his new role in stride instead of wallowing in self-pity. They need men like that.

While correcting a man's defensive stance Robert happens to look up and spots her. Green eyes flashing brilliantly against the sun, he grins and waves with his one good arm. The training grounds being too far down to shout any encouragement, Anna simply smiles widely and waves back. Several of the men take notice and give Anna their own variance of wordless greetings. Good men. Her men.

Robert cups his hand on the side of his mouth and opens it, but his eyes immediately narrows and just like that, he turns his back and barks another order at a man who's just tripped over his own sword. Anna sighs. She doesn't even need to guess what he's seen to instigate that drastic turn of emotions.

"He doesn't like me," Elsa says, coming from behind her. She joins Anna at the ledge and surveys the men below. Most of them are pointedly looking at everything but her and Elsa's vantage point.

"You _did _have your bear rip his arm off. His behaviour is totally justified."

"To be fair, he was in the way."

Anna gives her a look.

"Bad taste?"

"…yeah."

"I must remember to formally apologise to them."

And Anna must remember to give them a talk. "But not now," she says. "They're still raw and it's best if we give them some time, I think." Elsa must prove her worth to the kingdom before she and Anna can go forth with words – because in this instance action speaks louder than words. It's partly to convince Anna as much as it is to convince them.

"Do they know?"

About the incident, Anna presumes. "No; it's kept under tight lid. Lord Gervais's men won't breathe a word, and neither will Jan. Of course mama knows – but I'm not sure if papa does; not the whole story anyway. And it's best we keep it this way."

Because it's a terrible, shameful act. If she can somehow force that particular memory out of her mind, she will. But life isn't that easy, and being royalty means she has to deal with any repercussions that comes with it. It's their blood on her hands; but not only that, Elsa's position is precarious – Robert's reaction speak volumes the distrust the Coronan soldiers still harbour, and right now _nothing_ can be allowed to feed that fire.

"You're hiding it from the King. That is not a wise move."

"With other Kings maybe, but papa will be devastated if he finds out. Violence is never in his blood."

"Neither is it in yours, I see. Yet you fight."

"I do what I have to do," Anna says simply. "It's unfair for my men to risk their lives in the frontline while I sit back and watch in the safety of the castle. I won't be able to sleep if I allow myself that complacency. I'll probably end up hating myself, and that's not a very good feeling to have."

Elsa doesn't reply, and Anna glances at her. She's not exaggerating when she said that Elsa's face is like a brick wall, but there's warmth behind that wall, though she wishes Elsa is more of a normal conversation partner, someone who's willing to speak without being prompted. But she's not, so Anna opens. She slides the plate towards Elsa. "Sandwich?"

Elsa shakes her head and politely declines. "I've eaten, although it was somewhat unnerving having to clean the plate with a Queen and a maid watching my every bite. I haven't had that happen since I was five, I think. I hated vegetables."

Anna blinks. "Wow. That's a lot of words, coming from you." She knows Elsa isn't the type to volunteer information unless prompted, but it seems like she has indeed given much thought about her behaviour – and Anna appreciates the effort.

"Because you were angry—"

"Still am. Kinda."

"—still are angry at my silence. Kinda," Elsa rectifies herself using Anna's vernacular. "And I feel that speaking a little bit more won't do any harm, especially if it makes myself appear more human to you."

"The way you word it make speech seem like an exercise of pulling your own teeth."

"I'm not used to speech. I spent most of time in silence under the Prince."

Ah. So that's how it is. "He… didn't talk to you?"

"He liked his women silent. Just pretty faces to make use of."

And Anna feels the sudden urge to fling the plate down and smash it onto the ground. It takes everything to keep her voice level, but even then, it still shakes. "How long were you with him?"

"Eight years, but before that I spent longer still in the Southern Isles, under a different master."

"I told you to stop using that word." Her voice is definitely shaking now. Anna feels the strain on her brows and tries her best to smooth her expression, distracting herself by tracing the cracks between the individual stone slabs with her fingertips.

"A force of habit, I apologise," Elsa says, inclining her head. "A different contractor, then."

Exhaling, Anna flicks her bangs of her eyes. "That's better. I'm sorry that's happened to you, and I'm glad you're no longer with them. It seems they have a tendency for cruelty." And Elsa's presence explains the Southern Isle's sudden rise of power in the last two decades. She needs to spend more time studying external affairs. Less spars, more books.

"I would have been happier if I have killed him myself."

"Make that the both of us." And truer words have never been spoken. "Something like that won't happen again. You can talk as much as you want with me, Els. I like talking."

It takes a while before Elsa answers, and it might just be her imagination, but she feels like she can see cracks forming on the brick wall. Tiny, miniscule cracks. It might just be the way Elsa goes still, or the way her eyes keep flicking to the bracelet on Anna's wrist. "Not with you, perhaps. But there will be others after you."

Subtext: it's inevitable, and Anna knows it's just the truth.

It's inevitable that Anna will die someday. If she doesn't meet the unnatural demise that seems to be the track record of Elsa's contractors, then it will simply be of old age. When it happens, she wonders if Elsa will still look like this, if one day she'll look down and see her wrinkled hands over Elsa's still perfect skin. "You're saying you'll outlive me."

"Yes."

"Telling a fair maiden she'll die. Has anyone taught you manners at all?" Anna says, chuckling weakly. Partly because she doesn't have Elsa's flair for deadpan humour, and partly because there's doom and gloom behind the idea of her own mortality. She likes to think the idea of dying isn't something to fear, but it's different when it's someone like Elsa talking. It just seems too real. Too imminent.

"My manner is exemplary," Elsa says. "I know seventeen ways to do a curtsy and how to insult someone with a well-executed bow. And I know how to cook."

"Uh… pretty sure you're lying. There's no way there are seventeen variations of a curtsy." Also, there's no way Elsa can actually cook. That's just something Anna can't see her doing. Ever.

"I also know how to lie through my teeth with the utmost conviction."

"Nooot really a good thing to admit," Anna says, and Elsa merely gives a small smile. Anna's read several romance novels where the leading men's smiles are described as roguish and/or mysterious. While she's never seen a roguish smile in real life (finds the adjective hilarious, in fact), but now that she's seeing a mysterious smile at work right in front of her she knows there's nothing charming about it. Just frustrating, frankly. "Anyway, does that mean you can't die?"

"I don't know," Elsa says. "I haven't tried dying, but I assume I can. My wounds do not heal any faster than yours."

Anna frowns. Something about that doesn't make sense. Then she remembers the apathy Elsa has displayed during her trial. "I don't understand. You were so ready to lie down and accept your execution. If you could really die, then—wait. You _were_ ready to die. Goddamnit Els! What is _wrong_ with you?"

Elsa shrugs, nonchalant. "There was a reason for that – as there is for everything – but let us not delve into it further."

"But—"

"In time, Anna. Mortality is a topic much too heavy, and I would rather if we go forward with the day with clear heads." In contract to Anna's, Elsa's voice is perfectly level. But there's something stern in it, and Anna knows she's been shut out again. Not exactly broken glass anymore, but still precarious.

"Okay," Anna says, acquiescing. "You're right. Probably not a good idea to scare myself of dying so early in the day. I'll leave that to feed my nightmares."

"I won't let anyone harm you," Elsa says.

Anna waves her hand dismissively. "I know, I know. But there are things you can't control, and I'd really like it if you won't treat me like a damsel in distress. It's bad enough that my great-great-great... something or other grandma was the epitome of that what's with being trapped in a tower until her thief charming came butting in. I'd rather not make that a family trait." And then there's that one thing, too. The knowledge that Elsa's overprotectiveness only stems from Anna's likeness to the woman she loved. Anna doesn't like the idea of having Elsa loyal to her just because she happens to share the same height or the same build (or really, whatever) as that woman, but she won't pursue the matter. It's Elsa's right to have her own motives. "But thanks anyway. I appreciate your trying not to let me die."

"You're welcome."

Right. On to the next itinerary. She still needs to collect her thoughts on this. Twirling the end of her ponytail, she glances at the last sandwich on the plate. "You sure you don't want the sandwich? I'm gonna eat it, y'know." Wordlessly Elsa slides the plate back, and Anna takes the sandwich. "Okay then. So. What do you know about the tribes?"

"I've learned that tribes isn't the correct term to describe them."

"Yesh buh—"

"Swallow _then _talk, Anna," Elsa says, crossing her arms. She taps her finger on her bicep and Anna thinks she'll make a great figure of authority with that look. Perfect balance between annoyed and patient. She must have practised that a lot.

"Right. Anyway," Anna continues after the sandwich is properly chewed and swallowed, "it's because a coalition of men and women descended from deserters and criminals from various kingdoms who just happened to end up in Corona because we were too nice and none of the other kingdoms would tolerate them sounds way too long."

Elsa doesn't seem to be able to accept it. "Yes; but the word tribes in itself signify kinship and ancestral ties to this place. From what I have read they are anything but."

Anna stares at her. "Wow. _Pedantic, _Elsa. Okay then. A clan. Or clans. Whatever."

"That would signify that they all share common ancestors."

"Or common interests."

"And what might that be? Terrorising villages, stealing livestock, kidnapping women? The killings of simple peasants defending what are rightfully theirs? That's a very broad set of common interests."

She doesn't like the tone Elsa's taking. It's sharpened steel under sheer velvet, and she's afraid Elsa might let loose again.

"You're very well read about them, obviously," she says, remembering the unnatural amount of time Elsa's spent at the library when they weren't talking. "And I'm sure you've talked enough about this with Lord Gervais and perhaps mama too. So you'd know they're only doing what's necessary—"

"Which necessity? The killings or the abductions? Do enlighten me."

Right. She _definitely_ doesn't like that tone: snarky and condescending. She remembers the look in Jan's eyes that night and the bread flattens between her fingers. "You've killed too."

"I don't kill the helpless."

What a big, fat lie. "Oh really. Because I've read something about you slaughtering an entire city under some empress or another. Or was the author lying?"

"Empress. I did not do it willingly," Elsa says. Her expression is carefully blank – blanker than usual, and she's ceased with the tapping. Instead she grips her arm so tightly the tendons in her hand are popping out, and Anna realises she's stepped on glass.

It's a sore nerve she's touched; a blow under the belt. But she's not going to apologise, because Elsa doesn't have the right to sit on her high horse when she's done much the same. She tries a different tactic and will her voice to be softer. Placating. "Do you ever think that maybe those men you killed weren't willing, too?" Because their current self-titled warlord is anything but democratic, and she knows that Elsa's been informed of that.

"No. They had a choice."

"And you had the choice of not killing them."

"I thought we're already past this," Elsa says.

Despite her words, her grip's loosened and she's once again just a brick wall, instead of that… whatever that expression was. As long as you chip hard enough and long enough there's always a way to go through a wall, but that expression Elsa's assumed? Anna feels that she can chip away for an eternity and only to end up with broken tools and scarred hands with nothing to show. It's a scary thought. It makes her realise that she's barely peeled the topmost layer of this multifaceted, complex woman, and even then she's already backpedalled two steps for the one step forward she took last night.

It also makes her realise that they're both trying to jostle each other off one another's horses. Or she does, and Elsa is merely responding with defensive blocks and manoeuvres. Not even a parry.

Anna sighs. "I suppose. I'm sorry for dragging it up again."

"No need to apologise for your convictions. I have my own and you have yours."

"I'm still the one on the right, though."

"If you say so."

Again, that tone. "…and this is exactly why I dragged it up in the first place," she says under her breath.

"I didn't quite catch that."

She extends her lower lip and blows upwards. Her bangs flutter. "Nothing." She glances at Elsa's arms. At least her grip is completely slack now. That's a good thing. Maybe. Broken glass, Anna. Broken glass.

She clears her throat, but before she can say anything Elsa interjects, "you told me you had a plan. Care to elaborate?"

She blinks. "Huh."

"About the coalition of men and women descended from deserters and criminals from various kingdoms who just happened to end up in Corona because you were too nice and none of the other kingdoms would tolerate them?" Wow. Elsa has parroted Anna's definition word-by-word. Either she has a terrifyingly good memory or she's just being needlessly uptight about semantics. Most likely the latter. "Has anyone ever told you you get too easily distracted?"

Come to think of it…

"Actually… yes they did. Papa used to read me bedtime stories, right? But we'd never finish anything because I'd want to know everything about the characters. Have you ever wondered how easily Little Red Riding Hood was deceived by the wolf? I mean the difference between an old woman and a wolf—"

"_Anna_."

"Right. Right. I do have a plan, actually."

"Are you going to tell me?"

"We'll have a talk with them. Me and you and them."

And Elsa looks so shocked, so flabbergasted then Anna feels like laughing at the sheer incredulity of that expression. How utterly out of character for Elsa. Would've laughed, if it's not _her_ plan that Elsa is nearly having a stroke over.

Elsa's mouth opens and closes, and finally she manages an "_excuse me?_"

"A talk," Anna repeats herself. "You. Me. Them."

"What. Anna. _No._"

"Why not?"

"_Why not?_" With a groan, Elsa buries her face in her hand, muttering something inaudible. Then she slides her hand down, pinches the bridge of her nose. "I had a conversation with Cecile this morning exactly about _this. _She told me you would suggest something like this, but I thought no one could possibly be as foolish. You've proven me wrong."

Anna shrugs. The jab at her intelligence doesn't hurt her the slightest. Foolish isn't synonymous with naïve, and she's fine with that. At least it wasn't said with _that_ tone she utterly despises. "Mama knows me well, I suppose."

"The answer is still no, Anna. Let me propose this: let us have discuss this with Alexander first, yes? He can offer advice on the next step. I think that's the most logical thing to do."

Anna whistles. "First names with Lord Gervais too? Impressive. But logical or not, no Lord Gervais will be involved this time. What will he suggest? Kill them all? You forget that the massacre is _still_ his fault as much as yours. You wouldn't have done anything without his explicit permission."

Gervais being a friend to the throne or not, it still hurts that he would conspire behind her back like that. He's like a second father to her, and that betrayal runs deep. No doubt he'll answer something about the greater good again when asked and that's one phrase she no longer wants to hear.

"The King then," Elsa says. There's a hint of desperation in her voice. "We'll request his audience and—"

"And he'll say the same thing as I did. Did mama not tell you that he and I share the same moral values?"

"Yes; frustratingly _so._" There are a lot of stressed words in Elsa's speech today, a far cry from her usual level intonation. "Cecile, then."

"Mama told me I have her implicit trust."

"That's because – _god_._" _If Elsa weren't so well-bred (because a woman like Elsa can't be anything but of noble stock) and so regal, Anna reckons she will have stomped her foot then. "I give up. Do what you wish. Even if I absolutely refuse to move from this spot you would go by yourself anyway and I would end up following due to a lack of choice."

"Unless you want me brain-dead from pain, that is. Look Els. Even if the negotiation goes south, at least we would have _tried_. I think we at least owe them that after what we've done."

"I don't _care_ about the negotiation." Elsa sets her hand on the ledge with more force than needed, and Anna can see thin frost starting to spread underneath her palm. "All I care about is the risk of you being hurt. I would be much happier if you mobilise your soldiers to escort you for this… talk."

"I suppose I could," Anna says. "But what would it accomplish? You're probably stronger than any of them combined, and how would you feel if an army were to march into your turf unannounced? It won't end up pretty."

"But prettier still than if anything were to happen to you. Are you even aware that you're the only heir to Corona? _Nothing_ can happen to you."

The frost spreads still, spreading to the edges of the ledge, threatening to overflow. The men are still training below, a few of them looking up warily at them. Catching Anna's glance, Elsa retracts and folds her hands in front of her. The very picture of a demure lady if not for her sharp, piercing glare.

"Thanks," Anna says. "And yes; I do know, believe me. But I also know that you'll protect me with everything you've got. I trust you."

The muscles on Elsa's neck clenches as she swallows, and a long moment passes in silence. Then she looks away. "You put too much trust on a mere stranger."

"I'd like to think we're friends now. And I also trust you to not lay a hand on them unless I say so."

Anna's not asking for confirmation. She's just putting it out there, her trust. And she hopes Elsa won't disappoint. Maybe Elsa's right and it's foolish to trust someone she's only known for scarcely more than a week, but what use is life without trust? Everyone deserves a second chance.

Elsa's sigh is long and drawn. Finally she says, "when are we leaving?"

"Effective immediately. We've waited long enough and there's no use dawdling. The outcome will be the same either way."

"I knew you would say that."

"Does that mean you've stopped trying to persuade me to rethink my plan?"

"I've given up."

_Finally_. Like pulling teeth, seriously. Relieved, Anna jams the rest of the flattened sandwich into her mouth and starts chewing, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk's. Elsa's looking at her in a manner that suggests she doesn't know whether to slap Anna silly or just resign herself to being stuck with Anna as her contractor.

"Take your time," she says drily.

It's good sandwich, flat or not. Of course Anna will. She finishes just as Elsa looks like she's about to lose her patience, and dusts her hands against each other. "Right," she says, "it's a two day ride from here, but thankfully the sun's still high so we should still be able to cover enough distance before sundown. I'll tell the servants to get some supplies—"

"No need," Elsa says. Palm upward, she lifts her hand from midsection to shoulder level. An enormous snowflake pattern appears on the ground along with a flurry of snow, and just like that, Anna sees a dragon rise in tandem with Elsa's movement.

A dragon. A goddamned _dragon_. _A real-life dragon._ Holy. Crap. Anna's not sure if her jaw is ever going to be able to hinge itself back again. Then she notices the sudden stillness and glances down at the training grounds. It seems like she's not the only one who's awestruck at the sight of it. The silence is almost reverent, and she understands the feeling. It's fearsome and beautiful, and really, no words can describe its sheer magnificence. Because it's a dragon. _A goddamned giant dragon_. Holy. Crap.

As if used to theatrics, it lifts its head and rises from its prone position, unfolding its legs one by one. It's staring straight at Anna with its white, reptilian eyes, then opens its mouth slightly, enough to reveal rows of teeth as sharp and long as daggers. She can see the icy breaths that goes with each pulsation of its chest and feels a shiver run down her spine. Primal fear. Awe. Humility.

Its scales shine bright under the sunlight, iridescent, and only then has she realises that Elsa is moving towards it. She watches as it lowers its head at Elsa's approach, allowing itself to be stroked by its master.

"Do you like it?" Elsa asks, still gently stroking its snout.

It takes a while, but Anna's jaw finally re-hinges itself. "Holy crap," she says. Then, "you're such a show off."

"Shock and awe, Anna. You're insistent on going severely disadvantaged. This is how we gain leverage."

"Shock and awe," Anna parrots. "Shock and awe. Gotcha. Shock and awe. Yep."

"Indeed. It's harmless. Do you want to try petting it?"

"Not really, but can I keep it and look at it from afar and name it after food?"

"No."

"Okay," Anna says, slightly disappointed. She squints at the dragon and tries her best not to follow her instinct of backpedalling over the ledge. Elsa's right about it being shocking and awing at least. "So ah, it's not gonna bite my head off or anything, right? I know I'm immune to your powers, but you know. Just in case I'm not immune to teeth."

Or claws. Those are some seriously _long_ claws.

"Do you want to try?" Elsa asks, deadpan. Definitely used to theatrics, her dragon opens its maws to show teeth. A row of very long, very sharp teeth. A forked tongue darts out and in again.

Uh-huh. This is another instance where Anna doesn't know if Elsa's joking or not. But a woman with questionable sense of humour is still much better than a dragon of mass destruction, so Anna decides to get closer to Elsa, angling her body awkwardly to remain facing the dragon as she half crabwalks, half trips over to its master.

Elsa gives her an amused look as Anna sidles up next to her. "You think I'm less terrifying than my beast."

"Well, no offense," Anna says, "but your teeth aren't long enough to compete. I'd rather die from a spike into my chest than… _that_. I think."

"An illogical statement when it's me who is controlling it."

She shrugs. "No one ever says humans are logical creatures."

"Yes; I think I'm seeing the prime example right in front of me."

"Oh _you,_" Anna says, flapping her hand. If it were Jan, Elsa will definitely get an elbow to the ribs, but alas. "Anyway, enough shooting the breeze and all that. We're going to ride this, yeah?"

"Yes." And Elsa touches Anna's elbow, three of her fingers lightly guiding Anna towards the dragon's midsection. It folds it legs back underneath his body and lies down, flat on the ground.

Even prone as it is, Anna can see that it's still the size of a small house, and she wonders if Elsa is expecting her to climb up that or something. Because she's never good with heights. Is absolutely terrified of heights, in fact. Even when her stomach is already doing its own cartwheels now, she's not going to tell Elsa that. It might just be pride, or it might just be that her self-preservation instinct is as faulty as Elsa's is, but she's adamant about putting a brave face on. So hands on her hips, she looks up and so very casually says, "okay. We're gonna climb this. Gotcha. Ladies first."

Elsa shoots her a look. "You're also a lady, Anna."

A snort. "Some people will beg to differ. So yeah. You first." With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, Elsa does a small twirl with her hand and creates a saddle on the dragon's back along with a small ladder that goes up to it. The dragon snorts and Anna jumps back. Then rights herself and pretends that never happens. "Right." And it seems like there's no more wiggle room, because Elsa has decided to lean against the dragon, arms crossed, watching Anna's every move with that gaze of hers. Pretty, but really scary. Pride definitely winning over fear, Anna sighs and grabs the rung above her head, starting her climb.

"Before we go." A few rungs up and she stops when she hears Elsa speak. Angling her neck awkward down, she sees Elsa standing to the side of the ladder, a hand grasping it. "I want to make it clear that when anything goes wrong, I reserve the right to do whatever it takes to ensure your safety, do you understand me?"

When, not if. _When _she messes up. _When_ Elsa breaks again. She's not naïve – she knows there are an infinite number of ways this can go wrong, and maybe she puts too much trust on Elsa and too much optimism for the people who by all means she has orchestrated the slaughter of. But still, she's going to try.

She nods. Says, "I understand." Then resumes her ascent, one hand after the other.

A world without kindness and trust might as well be nothing at all; she wants to show Elsa that. Show that despite the perceived naivety she's capable of making her own decisions to benefit Corona. Reaching the top rung, she spares one last glance at Elsa. The woman who hands she's put her life in, despite everything.

But would it hurt for Elsa to reciprocate a little bit of that trust?


	7. decisions, the road to hell is paved

**A/N: First, she drops out of the world for like, 5000 years. Then she has the galls to give up a short chapter because the next chapter is so bloody long so she has to cut it up!? HOW DARE SHE! Anyway, I'm suuuper sorry guys. Life's crazy and stuff. Hopefully this doesn't happen again. But exams is coming up, so no concrete promises. But next chap is almost done. Yay!**

**7.**

Elsa is the epitome of perfection. Smart, powerful, regal, beautiful. Unfortunately, sometimes she can also be the epitome of an eight carriage pile-up with her non-existent sense of self-preservation, drowning in bathtubs, and so very unfortunately, her complete lack of navigational skills.

Or maybe it's the dragon that's at fault, because flying with eyeballs made of ice doesn't seem like an easy feat to do, but regardless of whatever the reason is, Anna finds herself assaulted with the imagery of throwing up at Elsa's back after the fifth time they've flown over the same small mountain with the same bald patch of clearing with the same stream running through. By the sixth time, her stomach's gone from doing a series of cartwheels to threatening to erupt by emulating a violent earthquake. Several violent earthquakes.

Her stomach's had enough. Every time the dragon changes courses or alters its elevation, she feels like she's been dropped down a cliff, face first. Unless she wants to really end up doing something utterly unprincessy towards Elsa, they need to stop. And she tries to get Elsa to do exactly that. The dragon's wings and the shrill howl of wind are too loud for words, so she resorts to hitting Elsa's shoulder with her open palm in succession. Gently, of course. Jostling your driver in a carriage way up in the sky is never a bright idea. So is assigning Elsa as the driver.

Elsa shoots her a look over her shoulder, mouth moving to utter what Anna guesses as "_what?"_. Even if Anna can't hear it, she can definitely see the italics. A hand clasped over her mouth, she points her index finger downward, jabbing the air repeatedly with an up and down motion. Once again Elsa's mouth moves, and this time Anna can _definitely_ see the bolded italics. But despite that, Elsa's mild irritation quickly morphs into a concerned frown.

Anna pantomimes the vague motion of throwing up, just in case. She also mouths the sentence "clearing. Down. Slowly. I think. I'm dying", also just in case Elsa has the hidden ability of lip reading to go with her magic.

Now the concern has turned into alarm and Elsa whips her head, staring straight ahead. Slowly, gently, Anna feels their course altering to the left in a wide arc, slowly angling downwards. The dragon's beating wings too, are getting slower and slower. Casually and almost lazily. She closes her eyes. If it weren't for the fact that she's flying high on a _dragon_, she can almost imagine herself on a canoe, feeling the bumps and undulations of the ocean wave. But sadly, she _is _on a dragon, and there's nothing nice about that. It's embarrassing enough that she's been pressing her chest flush against Elsa's back the entire ride, arms tight around the curve of Elsa's waist (embarrassing, but oddly, slightly pleasant. If she weren't riding a freaking _DRAGON_), but even worse is the fact that Anna's arms has tightened into a death vice, and she wonders if Elsa will find bruises on her stomach the next day. She clenches her eyelids harder, willing the tsunami in her stomach to roll away.

Only after she feels and hears the thud of the dragon's landing does she allow herself to open her eyes – squinting in a narrow line at first to see if they're indeed very grounded. Very down to earth. Very not flying.

She's still holding Elsa tight.

"Are you all right?" Elsa asks over her shoulder, frowning slightly.

"Yeah yeah sorry. I'm—" Anna waves her hand in attempt to appear flippant, but really, she feels anything but. Someone or another said that flying will be humanity's greatest achievement, and well, what a load of lies. Flying simply isn't meant for mortals. With a groan, she buries her face into the cleft between Elsa's shoulder blades – personal space be damned – in an attempt to steady herself. At once she hears Elsa does a sharp inhale, her body going rigid. Before she can register the oddness of that reaction, Elsa grabs her wrists and forces them apart, then swings her leg, angling her body to the side and jumps off.

Landing on the balls of her feet, crouched, Elsa then straightens and flicks her wrist, creating a short, very fancy, very pretty stairwell that extends from the saddle to the ground. "Hold on to me," she says, taking two steps up, hand extended.

And Anna does, latching on to her makeshift Prince Charming as she descends down the stairs. Once both the soles of her boots have touched the solid, unshakeable presence of the earth, she lets out a long sigh of relief, untangles her hand from Elsa's and immediately plops down, back flush against the grass, hands folded on her stomach.

She's about to do a mental soliloquy on how beautiful the sky is when you're not trip traipsing _in _it when Elsa decides to obscure the view, bending over Anna's field of vision with her wind-swept hair tumbling over her shoulders.

Anna compares the blue of Elsa's eyes against the sky and finds hers much nicer. "Elsa: the destroyer of dreams. The shatterer of expectations."

Elsa looks nonplussed, as if Anna's the first person who has ever accused her of ruining dreams and murdering expectations. "Why is that? And shatterer is _not_ a word."

Pedantic, as always. "Because I used to dream I could fly. Now? Not so much. It was my first time – you could've been gentler, y'know."

"You don't strike me as a woman who likes it gentle."

"Well, if you get to know me more…"

"I see." Elsa disappears from view and Anna cranes her neck left, seeing her smoothening the grass and taking a seat nearby. Then she says, "I'd like to."

Anna blinks. "Like to what?"

"Get to know you better."

"You can. I'm an open book. Ask me anything and I shall answer. I'm a very down to earth person. Very grounded. Literally, as you can see." She waits for Elsa to laugh at that awesome joke, but when nothing comes, she does the best shrug she can do in her current position. No one's ever said that Elsa has a healthy sense of humour. "I'm sorry about this. I should've told you I have a crippling fear of heights. I was _this—" _she lifts a hand and holds her thumb and index apart "—close to throwing up on you. Lucky I didn't."

"I appreciate the warning. Like you and flying, that would be a first time for me, too."

Anna chuckles at Elsa's deadpan, lifting herself up by the elbows and stretches, then sidles on her butt and rotates herself to face Elsa. "Anyway—"

But Elsa cuts her short. "You should have told me so. We would have ridden horses instead and used the dragon only when we're close enough."

Anna thinks about that for a moment. She supposes she should have – but that's. Well, she couldn't. She's the kind of person who will rather crash and burn trying than have not tried at all. Cecile calls it pride, but she thinks it's only tenacity. And being tenacious is never a bad quality to have. She can't tell Elsa this, though, because despite everything, they're not quite close enough, and she knows from previous events and Elsa holds the same opinion as Cecile does. So she scrambles for another excuse and comes up with, "because um. I didn't know how bad it was?"

And no one ever says that she's an accomplished liar. So much like her father.

Eyes narrowed, Elsa gives her a long, blank look and says, "I see."

"Yep. You totally do."

The dragon snorts.

They ignore it.

"You're a terrible liar, Anna."

"Tell me something I don't know already."

"This, then: you are trying too hard because due to overcompensation for your gender and your position as the heir of the throne."

Now it's Anna's turn to draw a blank look, watching Elsa watching her, both equally as still. She wishes the dragon will stop snorting though. Either it's laughing at her or suffering from an asthma attack. "Um… big words, Els."

"And you prefer to obfuscate your intelligence when you deem the conversation too difficult or otherwise unfavourable."

"Well, _that _I know…"

"Like a puppy, you're boundless in optimism and cheer, but your pride and stubborn nature is reminiscent of a rampaging bull bent on tackling everything in its path head first."

"_Wow._ Escalating to personal attacks already? And I do _not_ resemble a puppy. I don't mind the rampaging bull part, though. I think that's awesome."

"You _are _a puppy," Elsa says, oddly adamant.

"I am _definitely _not a puppy," Anna retorts, rightfully adamant. "And hey look – as much as I appreciate you analysing my character traits, you're hardly one to talk, Ms. I Walk and Talk Like a Brick Wall Personified. Is it about my decision? I thought we've agreed to disagree and follow me regardless."

"Yes; we did." Elsa nods, but she's starting to play with her collar again. It tells everything that she doesn't, and Anna realises that she's still unhappy about this whole thing. Trust, she wants to tell Elsa. Trust me as I trust you. But there's no way to say that without sounding like a sappy character from a romance novel or like a petulant child, so she drops it.

"So aaaanyway, I'm good now." No she's not. Her legs still feel like jelly and she has a suspicion falling will be a theme for her nightmares for a long time, but it's not like she can sit here forever and admire the flowers and Elsa's hair and Elsa's eyes and Elsa's elegance. Pretty things are pleasing to stare at while doing nothing, but sadly, she has something to do. She's a woman on a mission. "Should we go? I promise I won't fall or throw up or anything."

But despite that, she makes no attempt to move, and Elsa must've caught on, eyes flitting down towards Anna's legs for a brief moment before she shakes her head.

"Not a bright idea," she says. "You might not do any of those, but you might faint and tumble down onto the earth. I'd rather not risk that happen." Anna whole heatedly agrees, even if her pride's taking a dent from it. "What do you say to resting briefly before adhering to my suggestion of riding until we are close by?"

"Sounds like an excellent plan!" Anna says, then internally winces at the desperate enthusiasm of her voice. Clapping to emphasise her words probably doesn't really help either.

And by briefly, apparently Elsa means something between brief and long bordering on procrastination, because the next thing Anna knows is they're huddled over a fire (lit by the dragon that oddly breathes _fire _despite being made from _ice_), her bundled up in her cloak and Elsa looking easy breezy with just her sheer blouse. Not only is Elsa taller than her, but she's also more resilient to cold. The world can be unfair, sometimes. Like today. It's spring in name only.

Anna hates the cold.

"Cold?" Elsa asks, but Anna merely waves her hand dismissively.

"Naaah. Just a bit chilly, that's all. Should've packed another layer I suppose. And lunch. But no use crying over spilled milk—hey can you live by eating ice cubes alone?"

It takes a while for Elsa to answer, and even then, she seems to be stumbling over her words, mouth parting slightly then closed again. And Anna? Anna's busy pretending she's never said anything at all. There's no question too stupid to ask, her father once said, but she feels like she might have attempted the impossible and succeeded.

"Um. That was… that was a very stupid question," she says, wishing there's a conveniently placed hole somewhere she can jump and maybe die in. "Can we both pretend I never said that? Please?"

Just one word, Els. Just say yes and we can get this over with and move on to the important bits of the day like getting skewered by a narcissistic warlord and maybe celebrate with a few kegs of ale and pretend that question never happened, ever.

But alas, fate isn't so forgiving, because instead of saying yes, a few moments of dead silence in which Anna is admiring a particularly interesting patch of grass and Elsa simply looks like she's concentrating very, very hard. A few more moments of very pregnant silence reigned before it finally goes to labour and Elsa bursts out laughing.

Bursts. Out. _Laughing_.

Shaking shoulders, hand clasped over mouth and all that.

Anna's jaw almost drops the ground as she stares at the rarer than rare spectacle unfolding in front of her. Elsa. Laughing. Even clutching her stomach. Oh god. There's something terribly wrong about the scene, like hearing a brick wall laugh.

It's just… jarring.

"Uh…" Anna starts, wondering if she should… well. Something. "I'm—are you okay?"

It takes a while for Elsa to smother her laughter enough to answer. "Yes. I apologise; I didn't mean that as a jab to your question…" Another chuckle escapes and dies, and she's finally back to being a brick wall personified. A very mirthful brick wall, but not quite as bad as before, thank god. "No; I do apologise. It reminds me of a question my sister used to ask because I was conspicuously absent from family dinners for the longest of times. And to answer your question: no, I cannot live on ice cubes alone. Although it would be terribly convenient if I could. Perhaps I could try?"

"Please don't?" is all Anna can think of saying. She's still a little bit shocked at the sudden display of something very un-Elsa, and she realises it's just another layer of Elsa she's been given the glimpse of. She wonders what kind of woman Elsa is before this, if the laughter is just a small tell-tale of the woman before the shackles.

And it _is _a very brief glimpse, because the traces of mirth has disappeared, replaced by that blank, carefully arranged look that Anna's seen so often. Elsa keeps her gaze trained at Anna, appearing as if she's thinking, slowly deliberating. As if the laughter isn't something Anna is meant to see. A momentary lapse.

"Els—"

"We should go," Elsa says. The fire's doused by a small flurry of snow and she rises from the ground. Pauses. Gives Anna the most convincing half-hearted smile she's seen. "Only if you are able to, of course."

She thinks she understands why. Because despite Elsa's words of wanting to know her better, Elsa's not giving her the chance to reciprocate. Or well, Elsa's trying not to, but Anna is adamant and persistent, and one day she will, just like how one day Elsa will come to trust her.

"Gee finally, Els. I thought we were gonna camp here forever. Nearly died from boredom you know – a bit longer and I would've have to start accusing you of procrastinating," says Anna, keeping her voice light.

Elsa's smile is now lopsided: a show of amusement. Equally as half-hearted and distracted. "I never procrastinate, Anna."

"Uh-huh. Sure. This coming from a woman who likes to sleep in baths and nearly drown. Why do I find it hard to believe?"

"Then you simply need to know me better."

Liar. But Anna has the time and persistence, and one day it won't be such a lie anymore. At least now she knows Elsa had a sister once. Another piece of information learned. Collected like pennies in a jar.

If you'd only give me the chance, Els, Anna wants to say, but she doesn't. "We won't reach their place if we go with the riding-route, y'know. We'd probably have to camp the night. Also, I'll be the one guiding us, thank you very much. You're hopeless as a navigator."

"No one ever said navigation is one of my expertise. You think too highly of me."

"Oh no worries. I no longer do. Thanks for disappointing me, Els."

"You are utmost welcome." Elsa executes a deep, mocking bow and Anna laughs. "Well then. I suppose we should go now."

"Yep." Then something strikes her and she pauses. "...heeeey, you reckon I can get a Pegasus instead?"

"They fly."

"Never mind then. A unicorn? Those don't fly, right?"

"As you wish," Elsa says, and just like that the dragon dissolves into a pile of snow, replaced by a horse and a unicorn standing in the midst of the snow. Show off as always.

And always so majestic, her creatures. And her. Anna can't help but to always draw a parallel between Elsa and her creatures. Murderous and beautiful. But then she remembers the reptilian humanoids from the night in the mountains and tries to shake the bitter taste away.

She's past that. _They're_ past that. It's good.

"We're good."

"I didn't catch that."

"Nothing nothing." Flashing a small smile, Anna ignores Elsa's quirked brow and trots off towards the mounts. They're good.

It's as if the mere act of repeating it over and over again will make it true – but that's what they say. It's not self-delusion. It's trust.

They'll simply talk and Elsa will stay her hand and everything will be all right.

**-X-X-X-X-X-**

They ride in silence. Not unusual, because despite the general consensus, Anna isn't tireless in her barrage of chit chat. It's not that she's tired of speaking or of Elsa's presence – it's simply performance jitters. The tell-tale queasy feeling, the rapid heartbeat, the looming feeling of intangible terror. The sweaty palms. She tightens her grip on the icy reins of her steed (wishing fervently that she hasn't asked for a unicorn, because as majestic and mythical as they are, having a horn protruding from your head is just recipe for getting hit by random branches) and focuses instead on the landmarks around them.

She knows these mountains by heart, but they're approaching a territory unfamiliar to her, and she fears any lapse of attention will send them lost. She wishes they will get lost.

"You don't seem well," Elsa says, voice clear even in the midst of their horses' soft gallops and the humdrum of insects.

A low branch obscures her way and Anna ducks, then straightens again, swaying slightly as she rides over a particularly uneven terrain. She sees Elsa do the same from the corner of her right eye and feels relief that even someone like her is affected by something as mundane as a hole in the ground.

"Just a bit sore from all the riding, that's all," Anna says after she's stabilised herself. She sees the shadow of Elsa glancing at her, then stares straight ahead again. Elsa knows. Of course she does. Anna wishes they're not riding abreast, because at least it'll be easier to hide any facial tics when her face is obscured from Elsa's line of sight.

"It isn't too late to turn back," Elsa says.

"No." She hears a small sigh from Elsa and ignores it. "I'm sure it'll go swimmingly anyway. No need to worry yourself bald, Els. You'll be there anyway so it'll be fine, right?" And with that, Anna leans right and gives Elsa's horse a reassuring pat on the head. Because Elsa is still fire, and touching her is still a thought so odd there is no way she can entertain it.

"Anna…" Another sigh. "My being there does not mean anything when I cannot interfere without your say. Will you at least consider that part of the clause?"

"Clause what clause. There's no written contract in our…" What's the word? "Relationship. No one's stopping you from simply disobeying. You know I won't hurt you."

"I would rather not chance it."

"Me hurting you?" Is that how fickle she sounds to Elsa? That Elsa thinks she'll break her words just from a spur of emotion? But then she remembers the rage she feels then. The one thought that ran in her mind over and over against like a siren and understands.

They both have something to prove tonight.

"You tell me conflicting words."

Anna blinks. "Huh?" Did she? "What do you mean?"

"First you tell me to—no. Disregard it. This can be a talk for another day."

Another day, another time. It's Elsa's default reply for anything even remotely personal, and from what Anna's gathered, anything means pretty much everything. But she's learnt to let it go. Elsa's right. All in time.

So she gives a shrug and says, "okay then." And besides, she _is _sore. Particularly her backside. An ice saddle is nice and pretty and all, but it still has a long way to go in terms of comfort. Wonder if she can

"Huh?"

And huh indeed. Because the next thing she knows her horse/unicorn/very uncomfortable ride is banking sharply left, away from the trail and deeper into the forest. This must be Elsa's doing, because she can hear the second set of hooves right behind her. Frowning, she cranes twists her body around.

"Dismount," Elsa says. A command.

Though still confused, Anna obliges. She swings sideways and hops down, just in time to have the unicorn revert back to snow in front of her. She glances down at the specks of snow dusting the front of her clothes and then up again.

"Too visible," Elsa says by way of explanation. As if everything is so clearly obvious to Anna already.

"Okay…"

"Too low."

"Okaaay…"

Elsa's started to pace now. Arms crossed, she treads the same small circle over and over again, barely sparing Anna as much as a fraction of a glance. It's a tight enough clearing with way too many trees surrounding them, and with Elsa pacing like that, Anna can't help but feel more claustrophobic than warranted.

_Now _she's worried.

"Elsa." Nothing. Still doing the circles. Round and round. That's a new nervous tic she hasn't known Elsa has, and an overt showing of anything resembling emotion from Elsa is never a good thing. Anna's had enough. She steps into Elsa's immediate path and holds her hands out, a signal to stop. "_Elsa!_" And just like that, Elsa stops a mere pace away from Anna's hands. Whew. At least Elsa's still responsive. Thank god. "Tell me what's wrong," Anna says. "You're worrying me. Why did we stop? Is there anything you're not telling me?"

"Please retract your hands."

Anna looks down. Notices which part of Elsa they're directly in front of. Then sheepishly brings her arms down to her sides. "Sorry. Forgot about that. So what's up anyway?"

"I apologise. I was thinking—"

"About?"

"Our next course of action. I sent one of my creations further ahead. As a scout."

"Uh-huh. And?"

"And it doesn't bode well for us," Elsa says. She runs a hand through her hair, gaze unfocused, looking at nowhere – as if only a part of her is here with Anna. The rest is out there, seeing what her familiar is seeing, Anna supposes. She's read the stories. "I cannot count how many – but even as we're speaking right now they're heading towards us. Straight to Corona."

"They? I don't—" Then it clicks and the queasiness Anna feels multiplies tenfold. "Oh god. No. _No._ This can't—it's way too fast. Even if we were to warn papa now, there's no way he'd have the time to…"

She trails off, feeling Elsa's touch on her wrist. Only then has she realised she's reverted to her old habit of biting her nail. She doesn't fight it when Elsa guides her wrist down, away from her face. Then the warmth is gone but she's too distraught to linger on the thought.

And Elsa says, "it won't be a problem if you allow me to solve it, Anna. But you won't – so here is my question: what do you want to do?"

So that's it. Elsa's handing Anna the reins to the situation, no questions asked. Anna feels like she's being charged of mounting a rampaging bull mid-gallop, but she knows that's only her fault. And she knows too that there's no other choice but to take those reins and run with it.

It's her pride. It's the safety of her people. It's her resolve being tested.

"I…"

"You only need ask," Elsa says. A reminder. Command and I shall obey.

She supposes she can feign bravery. Wave her sword around, swoop down on the dragon she hates so much and bar their path, demand to talk. Only the plan's changed and she's not so sure of herself anymore. She can do a lot of things, but none of them are favourable – it'll end up with either her or Elsa dead, and at least she's not bullheaded enough to dismiss that probability.

And everything just cements how useless _she_ is. Even now, when she can feel the slight tremor of her hands, can see the steadiness of Elsa's bearing. There's just one thing to do, and she hates, hates _hates _that the solution is just so _easy, _so right in front of her. Once again she looks at her hands, palms upturned. Sees the lines and rough callouses unbefitting for a Princess. All this and for what? If only she is as strong as the warriors and Kings in her childhood bedtime stories – if only her kingdom is anything but small and poor.

Because what use is victory when it's not _you_ but a woman who has just happened to fall onto your lap like an utterly convenient lucky star?

She feels like a child who can scarcely walk. A child who is left alone with a sword taller than herself.

It's so very real and so very depressing. Still looking down at her hands she says, "I suppose you think I'm an idiot for still trying to find a way out when the solution is right in front of me, huh?"

"No," Elsa says, and Anna nearly recoils from surprise when she finds Elsa's hands on hers. Thumbs lightly places on her palms, fingers encircling the back of her hands. Then Elsa's hands shift, almost into an action that resembles an act of intertwining their fingers together before she stops. Still, her touch remains firm and without fear – different than Elsa's previous touches. Anna looks up, finds Elsa's gaze piercing and indecipherable. "But there's no shame in relying upon others, Anna. It was a lesson that took me far too long to learn, and I would not wish you to impart upon yourself the same mistakes."

"Is this a life advice from the elderly?"

"Yes."

"What mistakes?"

"Now is not the time."

It never is.

"I see," says Anna. She's struggling not to let her thoughts run off into a gallop. Off-track, wild. But there are too many implications. Questions. Shadows of answers. There's so many she wants to say, but Elsa's right. Now is not the time.

Time.

She needs—

"—time," she says again. Her voice is low and quiet. "Can you buy me—_us _time? Not long, just enough for…" For what? To warn Lord Gervais and her father. But she has the inkling that the former already knows; that she's just a pawn on his board. What about her mother? Elsa?

Elsa's lips are pursed into a thin line. Anna wants to avert her gaze, look at the safety of their hands together. She's afraid that Elsa's looking at her in disapproval. She's afraid that her façade of bravado is crumbling piece by piece.

Elsa's grip tightens. Urgent. "You can think all you want later, Anna. There will be time for that, I promise. But now is not the time. There is little I can do once they reach us – and even less when they reach open grounds. The time to make a decision is now, and I need you to tell me what to do."

Circles.

Anna needs to break out of the circle they're walking over and over. Worn, treaded upon one too many times.

So she steels herself and asks: "how long can you delay them?"

"Several days. Four. Five. But I will be useless after, and what comes after will rest solely upon you."

Almost immediately, Anna catches the allusion. "You're saying it'll be easier to just eliminate them now. Once and for all."

"Yes." That word: concise, chilling, offhanded. It comes with a nod. Elsa's bangs flutter in the breeze. "But I won't. So make your decision now—"

"—or forever hold my peace?" That sentence: truth behind a jest. Anna draws a long sigh, lets it out. "Okay," she says. "Do what you have to – I'm giving you explicit permission. But—" and she breaks free from Elsa's grip and jabs her finger at the air, pointed at Elsa. "No casualties… or at least, keep it to the bare minimum. Remember that we still need them, Els. Otherwise this entire thing would be in vain."

All that slaughter will be in vain.

"If they perish, it will only be their weakness that is at fault. It will not be on my hands this time. Remember – I am only following your orders."

_Princess._ Anna can imagine that unspoken word. High and lilting: mocking. Just like Jan's. It's just her imagination, she tells herself. Just her and her bullish pride. Because there's no indication that Elsa is the type to mock – certainly nothing in her facial expression that betrays that sentiment. It's just Anna being  
>(<em>too sensitive. If she were born a man… my lord, do you not desire a son? A true heir?)<em>  
>stubborn. She takes another breath. Deep. Closes her eyes. Tries to ignore that voice. But contrary to popular belief, things just don't go away when you ignore them - it just gets worse. She remembers the looks, the whispers, the cutting words hidden behind jests about the barrenness of her mother's womb, about her father's manhood.<p>

"I… understand. This might not be the correct decision to make—" then again, when has it even been correct? It seems like her life is just brick upon brick of mistakes "—still, I'm taking full responsibility." She steps back and sweeps her hand in an arc. "Go do your thing, Els. Do your thing and we'll head back to the castle and reconvene."

"As you wish," Elsa says.

_Princess._


	8. merely a dream nothing else

**A/N: Love you guys. I thought I'd get flames for disappearing for so long, but it warms my heart that you guys are still reading this and totally didn't flame me. Dawwwh.**

**8**

Elsa doesn't pull any punches when it comes to the ferocity of her powers. It takes only a wide arc of her arms, and a second later Anna finds herself back on the dragon, flush against Elsa's back, fleeing low and fast – away from the pelting ice.

They're fast, but Mother Nature – especially artificially conjured ones – will always be faster. Anna can feel the cold chilling her the bones, made worse from the wind-chill. Each second feels like there are thousands of tiny needles ramming deep into her skin. It doesn't help the wind has dried any moisture in her eyes, and that her clothes are soaked through, clinging to her body. It feels like she's encased in ice.

She probably is. Seeing no other recourse, she shuts her eyes and clings to Elsa tightly – as tight as she can. There's no surface on Elsa's back that isn't covered by her, and she couldn't care less. Elsa's dry and more importantly, the only source of warmth Anna can find. Nothing else is important right now. Even her fear of heights seems trivial in the face of something so utterly alien as a blizzard in Corona. There's nothing else she can do but cling to Elsa with all her life, shut her eyes tight and force her chattering teeth to stay put.

And this continues for a while that stretches a bit too long. Even when she can only hear the roar of the wind in the distance and even when the crack and boom of thunder no longer reverberates in her chest, she doesn't move. Feels too cold and too sluggish to move. So she stays still and silent until she feels the thud and the dull sound of something big cutting into the air to signify the dragon has landed.

Suddenly it's still. So, very still.

"Anna!"

She feels Elsa's warmth shifting, and the next thing she knows she's face to face to with Elsa, with Elsa's hands gripping her shoulders and shaking her gently.

"…huh?"

"Oh, thank god you're all right," Elsa says, with a look Anna can only think of as utter relief. "I thought you were – I'm so sorry, Anna. I should have timed it better – sometimes I – how are you feeling?"

Elsa's being too concerned. Anna's fine, isn't she?

"I'm fuh— fine," Anna says. Flubs her words because she's still too busy trying to get her chattering under control. It doesn't help that her clothes is starting to feel like lead. A very, very cold lead. "Nothing wrong. I'm—just cold." Understatement of her life. Teeth chattering; shivers. Not good. Not good at all. And she knows it's not good because Elsa's expression has changed to almost alarmed.

Without another word, Elsa swivels sideways and hops off. There's the icy stairs again.

"Are you able to go down on your own?" Elsa asks. She's standing on the foot on the stairs, and Anna can see a few guards starting in their direction, inching warily. Night guards. Some carrying lanterns. But why are they wearing Lord Gervais's colours? It doesn't matter – Anna feels too groggy and foggy and cold to delve too deep. It's good that they haven't drawn their swords though, they should know better by now. Should know better. "Anna?" Hearing no answer from Anna, Elsa repeats herself, brows furrowing.

Snapping to distracted attention, Anna nods. "Y—yeah, I'm good. I'm good." With that, she starts her slow, stumbling descent, only to have Elsa catch her at the bottom. God, she's shivering so much. So much.

"You," Elsa snaps, handing Anna off to the nearest guard. "Carry the Princess inside and have the maids take care of her. Tell them to draw a warm bath immediately."

Even when her view is obscured by the tabard the guard is wearing, Anna can feel the hesitancy in the guard's movements. "…carry, my lady?"

"_Now,_" Elsa says. There's a lot of weight behind that one word, and the guard snaps into action. Muttering pardons and apologies, he hefts Anna up, bridal-style, and starts carrying her towards the main wing. She can hear the light click clack of Elsa's footsteps following them before it speeds up. "I will see you in your room shortly – I have some matters to attend to. Don't worry, I won't be going far."

A slight brush against Anna's shoulder and Elsa's off.

"Your Highness, if I may inquire about the circumstances? The snowstorm…"

"Elsa," Anna says in reply to the guard's halting question. She regrets not being able to address him by name, but she's not familiar with Lord Gervais's men, the lull of his steps too comfortable and she wants nothing more but to shiver underneath a kingdom's worth of blankets. She just hopes he's not one of the men involved with the slaughter. That's something she can't face right now.

Luckily he stays silent after, because she's not in the mood to talk. Not even in the mood to die from indignation at being carted around like a lame foal. She's just too busy being cold. And sleepy. Her eyelids feel like they've been weighed down with sacks of rocks. Maybe it's just her body trying to preserve warmth. She curls up tighter into herself and the guard increases his momentum, breaking into a small jog. The rocking motion strangely lulling, she closes her eyes and lets herself drift into sleep, comforted by the knowledge that she's safe in her castle with people who will never do her harm.

**-X-X-X-X-X-**

She dreams of odd things: flashes of scenes jumbled together like a badly sewn quilt. In one scene she's in the mountains, riding on a reindeer with a man walking in front. The next scene she's having a conversation about marshmallows with a talking snowman. She sets wolves on fire. She's racing down a slope with the man and his reindeer. She's building snowmen with the talking snowman. She lies on the man's bare chest, listening to each beat of his heart. A palace made of ice.

And she dreams of Elsa. These dreams are more vivid. Stranger. Less jumbled. There's no talking snowmen, but there's Elsa smiling and laughing, walking in a garden beside Anna, sun in her hair. In between jokes and pleasantries, Anna's begging Elsa to freeze her heart again because she thinks it's broken into too many pieces. Elsa keeps walking and laughing and talking, and Anna tells her she can no longer hear his heartbeat.

She opens her eyes. It's a weird, weird dream. It's been a while since she's bordering between consciousness and slumber, so it's no surprise the last parts of her dream is the most vivid – but she doesn't usually remember her dreams, and that thing about freezing her heart. That's just weird. Weird and something else, but she can't pinpoint the exact emotion it's eliciting. She chalks it up as just the nonsensical thing everyone's dreams are, because talking snowmen don't happen in real life – neither do having reindeers as pets or Elsa being so open and carefree. Nonsense, that's all. So she turns around to her side and blinks.

Elsa's right there by her bed, seated on chair, paging through a thick book with a small lantern beside her on the windowsill.

"Hey Els," says Anna casually, still lying on her side, a hand tucked underneath her pillow. Despite having just survived a blizzard with a brief stint the salacious falling-asleep-in-a-man's-arms thing, she feels great. A bit sleepy and weirded out, but great nonetheless.

Looking up from the book, Elsa replies simply, "hello, Anna." No hint of surprise at Anna being awake. Anna suspects Elsa knows she's awake before even she does. Elsa's hyper-aware like that. Great peripheral vision.

"Hi," Anna says again.

"How are we feeling?"

"We're feeling fine. What happened?" Because something totally happened when she was busy sleeping. One does not simply dry up and transform into pyjamas and gets tucked into a blanket as soon as one falls asleep. God, that sounds pretentious. One does not say one without being pretentious. "You tucked me in?"

Because that'd be nice. Tucked in by Elsa. She doesn't know why, but it just sounds nice.

"No," Elsa says. "You were already asleep when I came back here. I assume the maids took care of you."

"Oh. Okay." That makes sense, because Elsa isn't the tucking in people type, and the guard would have been strung for changing the clothes of an unconscious princess. "Anything important happened meanwhile? I assume you told mama and papa about… the blizzard. And stuff."

Stuff. Guess she's still a bit groggy. Hard to articulate when you're so comfortable and so _warm._

"I did," Elsa says. She turns to another page and Anna wonders if she's somehow still reading while holding eye contact with Anna. "It has been a while since you fell asleep. The council has dispersed for quite a while."

"Have they come to a decision?"

"Yes."

"Will I like it?"

"No."

"… all right." Sensing that this will evolve into a conversation unsuitable to have while lying down, Anna sits up, dangles her legs over the bed and smoothens her pyjamas. Feeling that the temperature is colder than normal, she makes sure that the blanket is securely wrapped around her shoulders before looking out from the window. Even from the castle, Anna can see the blizzard ravaging the mountain – all the way up from where they were down to the foot, stopping only short at the border of Lord Gervais's estate. When Corona's idea of heavy snowfall is something half a boot sole deep, the sight of a blizzard is equivalent to seeing a giant dragon landing smack dab in the middle of the castle. But she supposes she's seen that too, having done exactly that after flying back on the dragon, racing side by side with the beginnings of a blizzard in their bid to outrun it. Not that they were very successful at that. "Are you going to tell me? I won't throw a fit, I promise."

"Perhaps tomorrow," Elsa says. "It's a matter too heavy to discuss so late in the day."

By discuss, Anna knows Elsa means debate. It's partly Anna's fault, because all they've done in the last few days has been debating, it seems. Partly Elsa's too, for being such a brick wall. But Anna knows that even the best possible decision won't sit well with her moral compass, as she knows that most of the council aren't as compassionate towards the tribes in the mountains. Elsa's right. It's too late for a debate, so she tells herself she won't. Whatever Elsa says, she won't throw it back at her. That's for after daylight. Turning away from the window, she looks straight at Elsa and maintains eye contact.

"Hit me. Whatever it is, I deserve to know."

"Anna…"

"_Tell me._"

Drawing a deep breath, Elsa sets the book on the windowsill and exhales, folding her hand on her lap. "After noon, I will dissipate my blizzard. After noon, they will march up with their soldiers and gather the survivors still strong enough to recuperate. Those unwilling to join your army will be dispatched." Anna makes a sharp hissing sound through her teeth and Elsa stops. "…is that enough or do you want to hear more?"

Even though her hands are clenched tight onto her blanket, Anna nods her assent and keeps her voice level. "Yes. I need to know. Tell me everything. What will happen after?"

"Then they will march up to the mountains – to the… tribes' dwelling places and demand vassalage in exchange for protection; supplies, now that the bulk of their warriors are gone. Those willing to relocate will be welcomed with open arms."

"I… see."

"I'm sorry," Elsa says, looking down at her hands, as if she understands Anna's pain.

"Not your fault." Though how much of that sentence is heartfelt, Anna doesn't know. But she knows that Elsa is going through the motions of empathy – even if she knows it's only surface level, she'd like to pretend that it's genuine emotion. That death doesn't come so lightly to Elsa. It's a lie she's willing to believe. "I suppose you had no hand in the decision."

Please tell me you didn't. Please.

"I did not. I stayed only to provide my account and nothing else. Anything more will overstepping my boundaries." Add wryly, "I've promised you that I will no longer plot behind your back, did I not?"

"I believe you," Anna says. And she does. She had decided to put her trust in Elsa before this and it wasn't a decision made lightly. She does trust Elsa. She does. "I suppose they weren't going to heed the advice from an outsider, anyway. I assume Lord Gervais had quite a few things to say?"

Despite being retired on paper, Anna has no doubt how tight of a vice he still holds Corona in. Old blood; old money.

"He is powerful and shrewd, despite his good-natured banter." There's almost a hint of admiration in Elsa's voice. "But he wishes this kingdom well, as most of your subjects do."

Most. Not all. Even a newcomer like Elsa has spotted the tenuous discontent between the nobles.

"I just wish you're right," Anna says. "I just wish that they don't have to resort to such measures. There should be another way. Must be another way."

"Is there really? Do you think that your father has come to that decision lightly?" Elsa asks. Rhetorical. She brings her chair closer – knees almost touching Anna's. "We've spoken, Anna. It weighs as heavily in his heart as it does in yours."

"I'm not happy."

"You shouldn't be. But one day you will need to make decisions worse than this. Consider this practice, Anna. It will come easier with time."

"I hope I'll never become jaded enough that something like this ever becomes easy."

"Not easy. Easier."

"Not even for you?"

"It does become easy for me, but then again..." Elsa shifts in her chair, and their knees touch. "I'm different. You will never become like me, rest assured. I will never allow that to happen."

Protective. Anna still doesn't know why Elsa is so protective of her, but she knows, somehow knows that Elsa just might be the catalyst of her becoming what they're both trying to avoid. It's what kings and queens do, and someday she _will_ become a queen. It's inevitable.

"I hope I won't, too. But I suppose some things you just can't control. Like today. Like the council."

"You can try."

"And see where that landed us. Nowhere nice." Flashing Elsa a small, wan smile, Anna pats her pillow and props it against the wall. She then positions herself to rest against the pillow and stares up at the ceiling, fingers crossed on her stomach.

Her room is illuminated bright for a moment before the crack of lightning hits. Deafening. She doesn't need to wonder how the men caught in the blizzard are faring. She knows the answer well enough.

Silence. There's nothing but the sound of her rhythmic breathing to counteract the total lack of sound. Maybe if she listens hard enough she can hear her own heartbeat, like how she can't hear the heartbeat of the man in her dream.

"You're taking this very well," Elsa says.

Anna continues staring at the ceiling. She likes the looks of the deep shadows cast by the moonlight and lantern. Very pretty. "I'm surprised too," she starts after a while, "but I'm just a princess. There's nothing more I can do. I tried. I failed. That's it. Just a princess."

Maybe it's better if she were born a prince. Maybe they'll take her more seriously. Maybe her parents' position won't be as tenuous if she were perceived as a more solid heir. It's a lot of maybes. She lifts her arm and rests her forearm across her eyes. Whatever expression she's showing, she doesn't want Elsa to see it.

"Anna?"

"It's okay. I'm just tired. You should go sleep too."

There's no reply, but there is the sound of scraping chair. Good. Elsa will leave and Anna can just… just something. She's not going to cry. Not even a little bit. She just needs some space, some alone time to save her the embarrassment of breaking down in front of company. Not that she will. She's just—

The bed sags and gently, gently, Elsa lifts her arm away from her face. There's no resistance from her. Elsa knows anyway. She always does.

And Elsa repeats herself: "I'm sorry."

And just then has Anna realise that Elsa is still wearing the same clothes as before. She must have beelined straight to Anna's room after the council. Anna still doesn't understand why she's so concerned, but sometimes it's nice to have someone care for you – even if that person is as unusual, as unreadable as Elsa. Even if Anna will never know the motive behind her actions. So Anna lets it be. Doesn't even try to move away even as Elsa moves in closer, her hip flush against Anna's thigh. It's all the room she has between Anna and the edge of the bed. "It gets better. I promise."

"…yeah," is all Anna can say.

"Is there… anything I can do to make you feel better?"

"That's sweet, but…" But it's always so strange hearing Elsa being hesitant, and really, what can she do? "I don't think there's anything you can do. Not kill so many people, maybe?" Seeing Elsa's lips purse into a thin line, Anna does her best to emulate a playful smile and says, "thought so. Just leave me alone for a bit. I'll be fine, I swear."

"And you will be," Elsa says.

"It's strange though."

"What is?"

"You caring so much."

"You've asked this question."

"I did." Elsa's resting all her weight on one arm, hair spilling over that shoulder. Anna's always liked her hair. It still reminds her of stars. It reminds her of the Elsa in her dreams; the laughing, smiling Elsa with the sun in her hair. And suddenly she can identify the emotion she feels after the dream: wistfulness. A slightly sad, nostalgic tinge she feels whenever she goes to her old nursery room and sees the old toys she'd long forgotten. "I had a dream of you, Els," she blurts out. She doesn't know what prompts this, but right then and there it seems like the most important thing in the world to tell Elsa about something so insignificant.

Elsa tilts her head. Questioning. "Of me."

"Yeah. You wore your hair in a braid with that blue dress. Exactly how you looked on the beach. But you were happier. We joked around. I don't know why I'm telling you this… it's just a dream, after all. But I just feel like I should."

"We all have dreams of people we've met. It's nothing strange," Elsa says.

"True. But there was… this one moment… where I was begging you to freeze my heart because I was too heart-broken over—" _A man, _Anna nearly says. But she's doesn't. "—something. And then there was like, this talking snowman. And riding around on a reindeer. It's an odd, odd dream. Maybe that's why I'm feeling strange. I don't know. I'm sure it doesn't mean anything."

Of course it doesn't. A _talking _snowman. Out of everything in this world, she had to dream about a _talking _snowman. Regardless, she needs Elsa's confirmation that it's _just_ a meaningless dream. There's no logic to it. She just does. She looks at Elsa. Looks hard at her face, trying to read any emotion. Anything at all. Sees none. But she swears – swears there is something different. A hint of

"Nothing. It's just a dream, Anna. Nothing more."

sadness. Why?

Elsa smiles. Gently. Sadly. Both. Not sure. Anna's learnt not to push. Why would she? It's just a dream.

"Yeah. Just a dream. Must be the exhaustion."

"It's late, Anna. I think it's time for you to go back to sleep." Despite her words, Elsa doesn't move. It feels nice, like this. Being close. Exchanging words. Almost enough to make Anna forget about what will come past noon.

Almost.

"As should you, Els. You haven't slept since we've returned, haven't you? I can almost see bags appearing under your eyes."

"What a catastrophe that will be," Elsa says. A lilt in her voice signifying a joke. She shifts, crosses her legs over the bed. It's not the action of someone about to leave. A small voice within Anna wishes Elsa will stay longer, despite everything. No rhyme, no reason. "…Anna?"

"Yeah?"

"What was I like… in that dream?"

Just an innocuous curiosity. If Elsa were to have a dream about her, she'll be quite curious of her dream character, too. Must be it. "Uh…" Anna pauses to buy time. It's hard, describing the Elsa in her dream despite remembering clearly. "Happy? You smiled and laughed a lot. More expression too." So unlike this Elsa.

"A very different me."

"Not even like the same person, I guess. No offense to you. But she—I mean you, were—" she runs out of words, and so decides to finish it lamely; as best as she can. "Full of life?"

"I see," Elsa says. Sad. Her smiles is definitely sad now. Anna can see it – but she can't fathom the reason. Isn't it just a dream? It means nothing. "Interesting. It's best if you don't dwell too deeply into it, however. It's merely a dream. Rest well, Anna."

With that, Elsa reaches over and brushes a stray lock from her forehead. The action is so unexpected and so unlike Elsa, she doesn't know how to react. Doesn't know why that brief touch feels like a caress or why she can feel her heart skip a beat.

"Y—yeah," she mumbles, nearly choking on her words. "You too. Um. Sleep well, I mean. Good night?"

"Good night," Elsa says, giving her one last  
>(<em>sad, gentle<em>)  
>smile, with a look Anna can't interpret. She gathers up her book and the lantern and she's gone, leaving only the soft thud of the closing door behind her.<p>

Anna reaches besides her, feels the bed sheet. And the warmth. Elsa's left behind the warmth.

**-X-X-X-X-X-**

This time her slumber is deep. Dreamless.

**-X-X-X-X-X-**

The news of their victory spreads through the castle like wildfire. Anna thinks that it's premature and that victory is too strong of a word for something not yet set in stone. But she doesn't blame them – the sight of a blizzard raging in the middle of spring alone is awe inspiring enough to instil a false sense of belief. With the Southern Island's attempted invasion, the war brewing around them and the sudden arrival of Elsa, anything to boost morale is a welcome diversion.

They might think she's just a blockheaded princess who prefers gallivanting around on a horse than mastering the subtle art of conveying meaning through miniscule movements of a fan, but she knows well enough of politics that there are not many other outcomes that will favour them so strongly.

Zero casualties on her end. She tries not to think of the figure for the other side.

At least there's action, they say. At least we won't be sitting ducks anymore. At least the King's finally gotten off his lazy arse and did something; took him a bloody while. And so on, and so forth. Her people are happier. That's good. That's good. Repeating that sentence to herself like a mantra, she props herself on the balcony railing by the elbows – palms cupping her cheeks – and watches.

It's a brilliant spectacle that lasts mere seconds – now you see a blizzard; now you don't. It's akin to watching an explosion of clouds and ice and rain, in reverse. As if there's a vacuum in the middle of the blizzard, and it's sucking everything in before exploding in a flurry of snow over the mountains. A rainbow arches from one end to the other, and Anna thinks it might be the only beautiful thing she's going to see for a while.

"You and your men can go now," she hears Elsa tell Jan.

"You're sure the blizzard won't come back?"

"Only if you wish it to."

"No I'm great; thanks," Jan says. Chuckles. "All right then, I'll take my leave. We should reach them by sundown tomorrow. Princess?"

Anna turns away from the rainbow, head angled toward Jan and Elsa. "Yeah?"

"Wish me luck?"

"Princess Anna of Corona wishes you luck, o brave knight of mine. Venture forth into territories unknown and bring us glory. May the power of gods be within thee. So long," intones Anna, intentionally making her voice as flat as possible.

"Well well. That just makes it sound final."

"That was the intention."

"Who am I to deny you your wish?" With that, Jan bows deep and takes her hand, planting a light kiss on it. Anna hums. He looks up and smiles cheekily, then straightens. Even he seems happy at how the events are unfolding. Who is Anna to deny her people happiness? "I will see you when I see you, Princess. And you too, Elsa."

First name. Anna doesn't like Jan calling Elsa by name. She smooths her face and says, "don't disappoint me, Jan."

The meaning is known to both of them, and he nods. "I won't, and I'm sure neither will my men. Good day to you both."

He turns and walks through the archway that separates the balcony and the dining hall before disappearing around the corner. Watching his retreating back, Anna sighs and gives the balcony a slap with both palms. "That's that, I guess. Now we wait. And do some paperwork." She looks at Elsa. "Are you going to join me or will you go back to the library and re-read books you've probably read a thousand times before?"

"I'll join you," Elsa says. "I might be of some help."

Somehow Anna really doubts it. Elsa doesn't seem like the paperwork type of woman. Imagining her hunching over a desk and slaving away over a stack of papers is bordering on comical. But Anna shrugs anyway. "Okay then."

She gives one last glance at the courtyard, looking at the plethora of soldiers behind the castle gate, preparing for the march up the mountains by foot. Light armour, light supplies. Only those wearing the all-black colour of the scouts are mounted. It doesn't escape her attention either that most of the soldiers wear Lord Gervais's colours. She takes note of it and files it away for further reference. She needs to take her mind of this, and what better than petitions and internal affairs? Yay.

Giving another sigh, she sets inside and seats herself at one end of the dining table, Elsa taking the seat opposite of hers. Conveniently, all the papers are already stacked high with a few quills and an ink pot lying neatly beside it. A few quills, because god knows she gets frustrated enough doing paperwork that one won't last her long enough.

"Why the dining table?" Elsa asks. "Do you not have a study?"

"'course I do. The view from here is just prettier; that's all." Plus, she's the princess. If she wants to do some paperwork in the dungeons, they better let her or else. And it's not like Cecile is setting a good example, either. She's learnt the beauty of dining table paperwork through her mother, after all. Taking the topmost document, she reads through it and sets it aside. That will be the stupid requests to be summarily rejected without cause stack.

She takes the next one on the stack. Slightly more reasonable. Not _too _reasonable, but there's enough justification in there that she can't just dismiss it. Points for effort. She creates a new pile, for the to be reviewed later stuff.

"Is this not a task for the Lord High Steward?" Elsa asks just as Anna's thinking of burning the document asking for the legalisation of marriage between man and sheep.

"Don't have one," Anna says, having decided on crumpling it into the smallest paper ball known to mankind. Throws it into the to be burned immediately pile on the floor. She takes another document and squints against the terribly small, extremely cursive handwriting. "I'm just filtering them out anyway. Maybe add a few comments here and there. Besides, my parents have to review it, so why not cut out the middle man?"

"That is a lot of trust they're putting on you."

"Nah, just budget cuts. Besides…" Then Anna looks up, and notices that Elsa is staring at her with a barely supressed smile. "Um. Find anything funny?"

"Just the sight of you being so absorbed in your work. It's interesting."

"…how… exactly?" She doesn't look _that_ stupid that someone will find the sight of her doing any serious work funny, does she? "Do I look that stupid?"

"Of course not," Elsa says, tilting her head still with that half smile. "You look and act so much like her, but she would have never been so willing to submit herself to paperwork – no matter how little. I find the juxtaposition interesting."

_Her_. Elsa's long lost love. Again with that comparison. Whoever that woman was, Anna doesn't like her. Dead or not. Again she feels her jaws tightening, and again she smooths her expression. Like the soldiers that are marching toward the mountain, she forces it off her mind. She grabs a third of the stack and slides it over to Elsa's side. "Since you have so much time in your hands, why don't you help with me these?"

Elsa thumbs through the papers, an eyebrow raised. "You trust me enough to be privy of internal matters?"

"Yeah why not. We're stuck together anyway, and you've already known enough of our affairs that seeing these won't do much damage. Just filter them into the piles – " she gives Elsa a run down on the piles "—and marriage proposals go straight into the to politely reject with humble letter begging forgiveness pile."

"All of them?"

"All of them. I only get proposals from minor nobles and rich merchants old enough to be my father anyway."

"No one of significance? The prince of another kingdom, perhaps?"

"None. No kingdom worth their salt is going to sign a death wish by marrying a princess from a no-name kingdom caught between three warring nations. I'm not worth that much."

She says that with an air of flippantness she's carefully cultivated within the years. It's just the truth, after all. There's no use being bitter about it.

"I see," Elsa says. She takes a wrinkled parchment and smoothens the edges with her fingers. Slowly. Deliberately. "…but I think you are worth that much. And more."

"Thanks Els. Maybe one day when this is all over." She bats away Elsa's words just as flippantly, even though she feels her stomach jolt, even though the wistfulness from her dreams are coming back in full force. "It's fine; you don't need to make me feel better. I know full well my marriage prospect is bleak. It's no secret."

The paper Elsa's reading is set into the marriage proposal file. "It's fine if you don't believe me. I suppose it doesn't matter a whit – you already have your eyes set on someone, do you not?"

And now Anna's stomach has graduated from a minor jolt to the cartwheels of someone caught red-handed doing something bad. "Excuse me? I do _not_." Too indignant.

"I saw how you looked at Jan when he said my name just now," Elsa says, tone akin to that you use to speak to a child. Anna's heart leaps to her throat. "You are in love with him."

Huh?

Anna blinks. Once. Twice. Thrice. Feels her jaw almost drop to her lap. "…huuh?"

"It's understandable. He _is _handsome and gallant. Most women would swoon at the sight of him." Jan? _Gallant?_ "But I have no interest in men. I won't make any advances on him – there is no cause for concern. You have my word."

It takes way too long for Anna's brain to connect the dots, but when she does, she does so with gusto. "Jan! Right! Yes! I do, totally, very, in love, with him. Yes. I mean, he's handsome. And tall. And good with his swo—weapon. Great guy. Yep. No wonder I like him. Sharp of you to notice, Elsa!" Even to her own mind, her enthusiasm is too forced and too faked, but she soldiers on anyway, only stopping short of patting Elsa on the back. "Keep it a secret though yeah? Don't want anyone to know I li—um. Love. Jan. Especially not him. My heart isn't ready yet."

Oh god. Now she feels nauseous.

"I won't," Elsa says, and then—and then there's that expression again. It's the same expression Anna's seen last night. It's not pretty. Not pretty at all. She wants to cup Elsa's hand in her own. She doesn't. "But I hope your feelings will come to fruition. It's… better. For both of us. I wish you well."

Dipping her head, Elsa goes back to the documents, leaving Anna alone with her thoughts, trying to fill in the missing blanks. Cryptic, always so cryptic. She wishes she can crack open Elsa's skull, untangle Elsa's thoughts. In time. It's not that their relationship is without progress – at least Anna's reflected enough from the night before to know why she's always so fascinated with Elsa's beauty, why she repeats every single instance of Elsa's brief touches in her mind like a broken wind-up toy. Why there's nothing else she wants more in the world than for Elsa to brush her hair away from her face again.

It all makes sense.

It's just a crush, and it means absolutely nothing at all. It's only natural to have a crush at someone so beautiful – she's had crushed before, after all. Crushes that send her heart aflutter, her tongue tied and her knees weak. It's the most natural feeling in the world; nothing more to it.

So it's better if Elsa thinks she's in love with Jan. Their relationship is too complicated, their familiarity with one another too shallow to leave any room for attraction. She'll just have to swallow it and wait for it to pass, as it always does.

"Anna."

"Yes Els?"

Just a crush that will pass soon.

"I think you might want to take a look at this."

Elsa slides a parchment over and Anna begins reading. Reads the content, reads the name. Her stomach sink and suddenly she feels so, so claustrophobic.


	9. a promise of her own

**9.**

It's not a pretty sight: the spilled goblet and the ink bleeding down the parchment. Her shaking fists.

For a moment she stares at the puddle of water – transfixed. An attempt to give herself time to sort her thoughts out. It's time that only lasts mere seconds, because it doesn't take long for Elsa to freeze the puddle of water before it can do any more damage to the letter.

"Well, now we know that time really isn't really a luxury we can afford," Elsa says. Anna watches as she rights the goblet up with one precise, elegant motion. "Better to realise this sooner than later."

Gingerly at first, Anna begins tapping her nail on the letter now frozen solid, right on the empty space where _Sincerest regards, _ends and _King Tiberius of Averny the Second _begins. "Soon. Later. What difference does it make?"

"The difference being prepared and being caught with your underwear off."

Anna looks up at Elsa and stares. She's not sure what she's expecting, but probably not the stern face of someone completely oblivious to the ridiculousness of her words. Is Anna supposed to laugh? No? "Under… it's pants down, Elsa. Caught with your pants down."

Appearing to be carefully processing that bit of correction, Elsa tilts her head, then nods. "Caught with your pants down, then. I apologise – I suppose my lack of practice in conversations is quite apparent." She smiles thinly, and Anna's reminded of what Elsa's life was like before Corona.

Elsa's right; it's better to be prepare when the time comes. It's not only her freedom and her people's that are at stake. Elsa's is too. She won't allow Elsa to go back to her old life. It's inhumane and awful and no one deserves to be treated that way – to live as merely as a weapon and a tool for pleasure. No one. Not even the woman who can kill a dozen men with a blink of her eyes.

Anna doesn't voice her thoughts. She's made a promise anyway; constant reassurance just reeks of empty words. She'll prove it through her actions. Not her words. Instead she says, "it's disconcerting, though. How fast they move. You've been here what, a week? A week and a half? Not enough time to send a message back and forth. I mean Averny isn't across the continent, but…"

"Eleven days," Elsa says. "Spies, perhaps. A terrific network of carrier pigeons. Both."

Anna wrinkles her nose. "Oh yeah. Carrier pigeons. Sounds far less impressive than a band of couriers racing at breakneck speed back and forth. Ah well."

"Indeed. Now."

"Yeah."

"We both know what their objective is, yes?"

Of course she does. After the various marriage proposals from lesser lords and slightly wealthy merchants, she knows that the sudden interest of a big player like Averny has nothing to do with the merits of her or Corona. Nothing at all. They're just stepping stones towards the real target. "Easy. They want you, and Corona and I are just the unwanted tag along. I guess I should be glad the first move is a marriage proposal and not a declaration of war."

"Though a marriage proposal might as well also lead to war. You're not planning on accepting it, I assume."

Marriage? Of course not. That's too farfetched to even think about. That's just… stupid. She almost blurts out her answer, but then comes a thought: if push comes to shove, what is she willing to sacrifice for her people?

Her life? That's easy. Of course.

But her freedom? To live the rest of her natural life in a cage – she only needs to look straight across to know what it does to a person. Even if it's for the greater good.

Another question: is she willing to sacrifice Elsa's freedom along with hers? If she loses Elsa  
>(<em>again<em>)  
>Again.<p>

Again. Again?

A door that won't open. She doesn't under

"Enough!"

Anna looks up, slightly teary eyed, her shoulders hunched.

"Enough," Elsa says again, softer. She's standing up, shoulders tense. It's becoming familiar, that concerned look. Anna notices then too that Elsa has her own nervous tic. It's how she sits: the ramrod straight back, the clenched neck. "It's all right, Anna. I apologise. We don't have to think about this now – we still have time. Please don't—exert yourself."

Anna hears the hitched syllable in that sentence, and she wonders just how bad she looks. Massaging her temple with her fingertips, she tries hard not to wince. "It's nothing. I just had—um, a headache." It's a white lie. It feels more like she pulled a brain muscle. The strain she typically associates from memorising historical dates. It's odd. What was that? "Maybe it's just the lack of sleep."

Elsa looks like she doesn't believe it one bit, but she gives a small nod anyway. "I'm not surprised. It would happen to anyone facing this predicament." Then, with a barely noticeable sigh, she smoothens the fabric of her pants and retakes her seat. "I presume telling you to retire early would not help?"

Sleep? Yeah; no. Not now. Anna has eye bags to attest to that. She slept well enough yesterday, but only because she was nearly frozen solid – and well, Elsa's presence helped. There's something calming about Elsa being around. Probably just another aspect of their bond.

"I wish. I'll sleep when I'm dead," Anna says, having started on mentally creating a checklist. "I need to set up a meeting with my parents." Check. "Then we'll have to go to council…" Check. "It's a tough one, but I'd like to think they won't just pawn me off to the first suitor just for a chance of survival. I mean, Averny isn't even the top of the food chain—"

"But powerful enough to raze us off the map, should they want to."

Us. Not you. Us. It's the small things, Anna thinks.

"Yeah well, most of everyone is. It's like taking candy from a baby, really. The council is full of old fogeys, but they're not stupid… at least I don't think so? They'd wait for something better to take the bait like… oh. The Southern Isles or something," she says, waving flippantly. But then she sees Elsa's expression and immediately grimaces. Shouldn't have brought them up. God she's so stupid sometimes. "Sorry, I didn't meant to…"

"That's fine."

Silence.

She messed up didn't she? Yeah, she did. She doesn't want to even imagine the unpleasant memories Elsa must be reliving now. Elsa has been particularly tight lipped about her time there, but from the sentence here and there, Anna knows enough that if it were her, death might be a far better option than to continue that existence. It makes sense; Elsa's callousness, her resignation to the sentence almost handed to her. Her strength.

"You hate them."

"Hate is an understatement," Elsa says. Her gaze is still the personification of all her powers. "Is it a rhetorical question?"

"Well y—no. No it's not." Anna looks down. Stammers. She likes to think that they know each other well enough by now that distance? Awkwardness. Shouldn't be an issue. But it doesn't, because right now she feels small – like it's her Queen that's staring down at her, and not Elsa. She realises that she's holding her hands tight together, and has to expend a certain amount of effort to disengage them and rest them neatly on her knees. "Sorry. I just thought – I mean, if you hate every single one of your contractors, that would be a lot of people to hate."

"Yes, I do hate every single one of them. But none I hate more than the Southern Isles. What's the point of this line of inquiry?"

That's a good question. What _is_ the point. How did they get here from talking about her impending doom?

"No point. Sorry I brought it up. I just…" She glances to the side, then sighs. There's no way she's going to end it here, not after Elsa's words. She needs to know. Still needs to know Elsa's motives. "Actually, since we're at it. Uh." Hesitating, her eyes darts here and there before finally settling to meet Elsa's. "May I ask why? Why them? Were they the cruellest in their treatment of you?"

But as deep as her curiosity is, she's ready to backpedal if Elsa responds in any way unfavourably. She's not going to sprinkle salt all over Elsa's wounds even if she's dying to know. She's not that type of person. It's cruel and needless, and she cares about Elsa's feelings. That stupid, needless crush.

For a long time, Elsa remains silent.

It's silence so thick Anna feels like she can cut through it with a knife like butter, and she's about to open her mouth to say forget it, I'm sorry. Let's talk about something else when Elsa finally reaches forward, takes the letter between her thumb and index, folds it neatly into two halves and slides it into her pocket.

"Let's talk about this elsewhere," Elsa says before Anna can react. Standing up, Elsa steps behind her chair and pushes it forward until backrest meets the edge of the table with a louder than necessary thud. "Perhaps a change of scenery will do both of us good."

Her tone is calm and collected but there's the lash of whip in it. She's bristling, Anna realises. It's an anger so cold, so targeted, so _intense _Anna feels she might burn her skin if she touches Elsa now. The skin under her bracelet tingles.

Tread lightly.

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

They're stubborn, the wrinkles.

It's the fifth time Anna's run her hand over that pillow, all the way from one edge to another. She tries again for the sixth time, pressing down and sideways with enough force she can see the tiny folds on the bridge between her wrist and the back of her hand. Old creases disappear to be replaced by newer, bigger ones and she gives up.

It's hard not to compare her life with this pillow. Or her relationship with Elsa. They argue, they make up, they argue. But unlike her pillow, she can't simply blame the shoddy work of her maids for this—whatever she is in now. But at least there's one more pain point she's learned Elsa has. Never mention the Southern Isles again. Ever. Maybe unless they're smackdab in the middle of her ocean again, committing mass genocide against her people. That might be all right.

There's no wonder Elsa was so quick to turn from slaughtering Anna's men to slaughtering those soldiers. So quick, it might be glee. Was she smiling then? Was there small quirk on her lips? But Anna convinces herself that it was just necessity. The Elsa in her mind doesn't take pleasure from killing, and that's how it will remain.

Perched at the edge of her bed, Anna takes a look down at the bracelet, turning her wrist over to the inside and out again. The skin underneath no longer tingles, and she takes it as a good sign. Still, Elsa has scarcely spoken five words since she's followed Elsa back to her room. It might just be Elsa, or it might be the residual effect of the conversation they've had before. It's a bit lonely seeing Elsa's back turned toward her with no words to fill in the gap. A bit lonely, a bit wistful.

So she tries. "Can I get that letter back, please?"

No reply.

She tries again. "It's a bit important, you know. I'd like to show it to my parents and maybe have a cup of earl grey while we discuss on how best not to allow our people get murdered without marrying me and you off to some foreign bearded guy with six wives? The sooner the better."

Silence. Elsa's still busy rummaging through Anna's wardrobe. Whatever she's trying to find, it seems to be eluding her for the last five minutes. It's not a bad thing, come to think of it. As horrible as the silence and the cold shoulders are, it's a respite Anna doesn't mind. It's something that she needs – to just sit and wait for something as innocuous and someone picking your clothes for you. She tries not to let her thoughts drift away towards the impending war, of the kingdoms circling around Elsa and her like vultures, of Jan and her soldiers in the mountain dealing with the tribes.

She needs a rest.

"Which one would you prefer?"

But alas, rest is short lived. Elsa's in front of her, uttering her first words in god knows how long, holding two dresses at an arm's length.

Two very plain dresses. The kind she sometimes wears when she was out playing in the mud during her formative years. She wants to ask Elsa what's this all about, but sometimes it's just easier to follow than to question.

Without much thought, she picks the one on the left. It's a non-descript woollen brown to the right's bright red. Nothing much to look at, and she has an inkling that's exactly what Elsa's striving for. And true to her suspicions, Elsa nods, as if pleased, then sets the dress down at the bed before returning the other one to the wardrobe.

Anna casts a glance at the dress lying next to her.

"You want me to change into it?"

"Yes, please. And this, too," Elsa says, then tosses another garment in Anna's general direction.

Elsa's throwing skills must be as atrocious as her navigational skills because it veers off trajectory enough that Anna nearly has to dive one way to catch it.

A cloak. Equally plain. Hmm. She runs her fingers through the slightly frayed trimmings of the cloak, reminiscing about that time when Horse tried to run her down in the middle of a swamp due to a particularly big rat or some other. Big, but such a coward. It was this cloak she was wearing, she thinks, or something quite similar to it. It's the type of thing she wears when she tries to blend in, break rules, or both. Is Elsa thinking of doing what she thinks Elsa is going to do?

"We're going somewhere we're not supposed to, aren't we?"

"Not quite," Elsa says, and Anna realises that she's already unbuttoning her blouse.

Audacious enough to not even turn away, but with her past – well, her ease with nudity certainly seem to make sense. A furtive glimpse of pale shoulders, and it becomes too much for Anna. Supressing her gaze (and the rising heat on her cheeks), Anna stands and turns to face the far wall, giving a little cough.

Concentrating on looking down to untie her bodice and ushering any errand thoughts of shoulders and anything below, she strips down to her undergarments – praying to whatever god that Elsa isn't looking at her – and pulls the dress down her neck. She's always been a fast dresser. "So um, is there a reason to this or do you just want to play dress down with me?"

"There is a reason. Two actually – you can look now, Anna."

"You… uh, sure?" For some reason her voice is more high pitched than usual, tripping over one syllable like a limping chicken.

"Yes; I'm very sure that I'm sufficiently dressed, if that was what you are worrying about."

Her pride tells her she should mentally strangle herself, but she swallows it and obediently turns, facing Elsa.

Anna stares. "Wow," she starts, for a lack of any better proclamation of awe. "You're certainly nailing that… average look really well."

Because Elsa is. Not average _average_, because you can't make that face and that bearing truly average. But apparently you can make it _averagely pretty._ Pleasant enough to look at, but nothing special as to draw a second glance. It can be attributed to the run of the mill rich housewife garb Elsa's chosen, but Anna thinks it's more how Elsa's carrying herself – back not nearly as straight, shoulders slightly stooped, accessorised with just enough jewellery a person of middling wealth can afford. It's so utterly unassuming, Anna has reins herself in from bursting into a slow clap and a whistle. Instead of throwing the confetti, she says instead, "very impressive, Els. I don't know which treasure room you're trying to break into, but I would never think you're well—you, at first glance."

"Thank you. That's good enough, then," Elsa says, looking pleased. She slides the last ring into her left index finger and only then has Anna realised that she's speaking in flawless Coronan accent. No trace of the lilt, that stiff speech.

Yep. This transformation or whatever it's called definitely warrants throwing confetti. "So… worked as a spy before?"

"No." Then, bending down to swipe the cloak that's fallen wayside off the floor, Elsa disappears from view – moving behind her to drape the cloak over her shoulders. "Merely experienced in having to disappear for periods of time. Turn around."

Anna does. She peers up in an attempt to maintain eye contact – because really, that's the polite thing to do – but immediately gazes down again. She realises she has trouble looking straight into Elsa's eyes at this distance – barely an elbow's length away as Elsa works on tying the lace fastening the cloak's collar.

"And how did that work for you?" she asks her shoes.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"…yeah." That's answer enough. "I'm sorry," she says for good measure. Not to her shoes. She tilts her head back up, staring straight at Elsa. She's been apologising a lot for atrocities she didn't commit – but it feels like the right thing to do.

The unneeded apology nor the accidental probing of her past doesn't seem to faze Elsa – a huge difference to her reaction to that conversation about the Southern Isles. Maybe it's just the timing, or the very specific trigger.

(_tread on glass, for she is fire_)

Anna wonders about Elsa's mental health, sometimes.

"Done," Elsa says, looping through stage of the knot and cinching it by pulling the loose ends tight. Then she runs both hands down Anna's shoulders, starting from the base of her neck, down the length of her collarbones. Her hands stop when they reach the peak of Anna's forearms, and there's that odd halfhearted squeeze, as if Elsa's not sure whether she wants to grab or let go. There's the halfhearted squeeze, and then a sigh, and Anna just wishes the rapid beating of her heart isn't loud enough to be heard.

Like she wishes her first impulse is not to relive that night of foolishness under the stars. She remembers how warm Elsa felt, how nostalgic her scent was, how… comforting that moment felt. She feels a shiver run down her spine and inevitably, unconsciously, she steps back. Away from danger, the crush she has no time for.

And Elsa? Elsa looks like she's been struck on the face. Her arms briefly hang in the air – above the spot Anna's shoulders were – before she retracts them back to her sides, and her expression returns to still water.

"I…" Mind racing a thousand words per minute, Anna tries to scramble for words. The right words to placate that fear of lingering physical contact Elsa has. Or maybe she needs to find the words to convey that she didn't mean it. It's not Elsa's touch that caused her reeling; it was her reaction to it. It's not you, I swear. It's me. Because she knows that expression well. Rejection. She scrambles, but it's too late. Elsa's gone, having withdrawn back into that shell of placidity and indifference.

"We should go now," Elsa says as she turns away, putting on a wimple while she tucks her hair into place underneath it.

There's no indication that anything's happened and it's frustrating and unfair and Anna's tired of this vicious see-sawing back and forth.

And a small voice says: maybe, maybe she has as much of an effect on Elsa as Elsa does to her.

_Why?_

And she nearly opens her mouth to say that exact word, but she knows better. The best way of solving a problem is indirect, Cecile has always said. Work your way to find that chink in the armour and work your way through until you reach flesh, the heart of the problem. Slow, methodical, controlled. But hammers and chisels don't work on Elsa. How can they the chinks in Elsa's armour are like mirages? So expertly repaired every time it's exposed it might as well be non-existent.

She grits her teeth. It's frustrating. It's unfair.

One of these days—

"One of us is going to break." That catches Anna by surprise. Jaws loosening, she furrows her brows and looks at Elsa, who's still preoccupied with arranging her hair neatly into the wimple. A stray wavy lock hangs loose, and Elsa lets it be. The rings on her fingers glint almost as brilliantly as her hair in the sun, and she glances at the window. The sun hangs high. Barely angling towards noon. "I know what you want to say, Anna. I apologise for my reaction. It was unsightly."

"No, I—" wow. That _did_ catch Anna by surprise. Elsa offering the hand of peace first crumbles her planned arguments like castle on sand. "I was just—" trying to word her sentence as diplomatically as possible and failing, she lets out a sigh. Diplomacy out of the court has never been her strong suit. "Okay. Let's start again. I'm sorry – it wasn't my intention to offend you, Els. I didn't mean to retreat from your touch. It's just that I'm not really used to someone being so… close. Physically, I mean." Which is a big fat lie. She was fine when Elsa helped put her armour on, wasn't she? She was fine with the hug. She was fine until her heart started to betray her. Elsa probably knows she's lying, but what is she going to say? That she's developing a crush at the last person on earth she should be crushing at?

Yeah. Right.

"Please don't apologise," Elsa says in a neutral tone Anna's paranoia can only hear as disbelief, "I have been… difficult today. More so than usual."

"…oh." Holy crap. What is it today? The day of peace treaties?

"And I want to explain; I do, but it seems like the time is never right."

Or not. Something about those words causes Anna to flare. It reeks too much of well-practised damage control spiel. The time is never right? Next thing Elsa is going to say something about hiding the truth for the greater good. Right. "…really."

"You find it hard to believe," Elsa says.

"Well yes. You say that you want to explain, but you never really do. A relationship should be a two-way street, Elsa. I've only been honest with you, and you? You obscure everything. I'm tired of stumbling in the dark, guessing what might or might not offend you, wondering what the hell is happening. Like now. You stole a very important letter, dressed me in this getup –to go where? What are we _doing? _It's not fair, Els. It's so not fair. " Frustration is rearing its ugly head again, and Anna finds herself unable to damper the torrent of words that comes out of her mouth. They're stuck for life, after all, and isn't honesty the first step towards a working relationship? Partners in life. For better or worse. Reciprocity. That's all Anna wants. Just a little bit of reciprocal.

At this onslaught, Elsa falls silent for a moment. Starts playing with the ring on her index finger, sliding it right, left, right. It's as if she's contemplating, _truly_ contemplating, but Anna doesn't get her hopes up. Resolution isn't so easily found, after all. Talk all they want; there's always another kink to unknot.

Elsa slides the ring back to its rightful position and finally she says, "I understand how you feel. I haven't handled this… situation the best way, I admit. I…" she pauses, bring her hand up and rubs her collarbone, propping her elbow on her palm. "How about this: do me a favour, and by the time the sun sets you can ask three questions. I might not be able to answer all of them, but I promise I will make the best effort to."

Now _that_ is shocking. No more spiel – as jaded as Anna feels right now, she can hear the sincerity in Elsa's voice, the tentatively offered white handkerchief. Three questions. "That's more than I could ask for, I guess. You sure about this?" Anna asks. Slowly. Carefully. Even though she very much deserves those three questions, she doesn't want Elsa to feel unduly burdened, or forced to disclose something she doesn't want. Call it selfless. Call it foolish, but she cares about Elsa's feelings as much as she cares about hers.

Folding her arms together, Elsa nods. "Yes. It's the least I can do."

Anna sucks in air between her teeth. Lets it out slowly. "Okay," she says. "Deal. So, what's the favour?"

"Allow me to relive a little bit of my freedom."

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

Freedom, by Elsa's definition, is a casual stroll in the city.

"This is the main bazaar," Anna needlessly says, because it's so obvious they're in a bazaar. Merchants, wagons full of goods, mules, stalls. A bank. Way too many people and way too many sounds. It's all encompassed in one giant square surrounded by brick and wooden buildings, each with a flat roof and way too many chimneys to be practical. Coronan architecture at its finest. "You can buy stuff here. Like chocolate, and candies. And marshmallow."

Elsa laughs lightly at this. The mood has considerably brightened ever since they've left the walls of the castle. Maybe it's the sun, or the salty air. Whatever it is, Anna thinks it's doing them both good.

"Sweets. Is that the only thing you care about? Nothing about your exquisite wood carvings? They're quite coveted outside of Corona, if I recall correctly."

"Oh, that?" Following Elsa's gaze, Anna spots the stall selling the carvings. "That was a while ago, though. Merchants are too afraid to travel across borders, nowadays. The tribes and the war and all… though I suppose the former shouldn't be a problem anymore. I hope."

"If Jan and his men do their duties correctly, it shouldn't. He's looking at us."

"Huh?" Oh, the merchant. Anna mentally cringes inside. She hates it when people stare directly at her while she's out shopping. It makes her feel guilty, like she should approach them and buy everything in their stall just because she's the princess and it's her duty to help the poor and the middle class. But she shouldn't feel that way now, because they're currently just two unassuming folks: a noblewoman and her handmaiden and nothing more. God. The hood is way too warm. "Uh, never mind him. Let's go buy some choco—"

Too late. Elsa is already walking towards the merchant. Casually walking, not her usual purposeful stride. She's really playing her part brilliantly. Anna sighs, then follows suit. Why is she the handmaiden, anyway?

"A pretty carving for two pretty ladies?" the merchant says in the way of greeting, smiling wide.

Anna notices that he's missing a few teeth and goddamnit, now she has to buy something. She hopes he doesn't recognise who she is. Wait, is he addressing her, or Elsa? Who should talk first in a noblewoman-handmaiden duo? How does all this _work?_

Maybe she notices Anna's confusion, because Elsa immediately goes to the rescue.

"Perhaps," Elsa says. Her hand hovers a selection of carvings: animals, trees, random pretty motifs, buildings, before it descends and she singles out the simplest, least intricate carving: a reindeer. There's truly nothing special about it. Just a reindeer with some impressive antlers. No details besides a pair of dots as eyes. Elsa turns it this way and that, and she asks, "how much for this?"

"Twelve pennies, my lady."

"I'll—"

"Five!" Before Elsa can commit the egregious error of not haggling, Anna decides that she should do the right thing by not allowing anyone to be swindled in her sight. Ever. "Five or we're walking away."

Elsa casts a sideway glance that suggests she's utterly unfamiliar with the art of haggling, and her lips part like she's about to say something. She's going to ruin this whole thing, Anna realises, so she pushes herself into the space between Elsa and the merchant, and holds out five fingers. "Five. Twelve is outrageous. You know well enough that a basic carving like that reindeer there is worth a pittance of your opening price. Just because my lady—" she clears her throat "– Elizabeth here doesn't know the value of real life things, doesn't mean I don't. As her most faithful servant I declare five."

"Eight." The merchant.

"Five." Anna/most faithful servant.

"Do I not have a say in this?" Elsa/my lady Elizabeth.

"Six."

"Five, and it's final."

The merchant takes his time to ponder – seemingly torn at the prospect of shooing them away or losing a sale. Finally he relents and makes a motion like he's fanning the air. "Fine. Take it. Just know that you've deprived an honest man of his pennies. Packaging isn't included at that price, just so you know."

Yeah. Honest man. Pssh.

"It's fine as it is," Elsa says, looking down at the reindeer. She looks like she's trying to stifle a laugh. A rare, rare sight indeed. Elsa looks like she's genuinely having fun, but Anna can't help but if it's just part of the persona she's assuming. "Angelica, would you kindly pay this man five pennies, please?"

Anna blinks. Who the hell is Ange—oh. Angelica? Really? Having come to realisation that she's Angelica the handmaiden now, Anna fishes the coin purse from her satchel and rifles around, blindly picking five coins and drops it into the merchant's outstretched palm. "Five pennies," she says, just to truly drill down that it's five pennies and not a single digit over.

Deciding that Elsa and Anna isn't worth wasting time on anymore, the merchant turns his back on them and proceeds to re-arrange his already meticulously arranged wares. Fine, she gets the signal. Motioning at Elsa to step away from the stall and off the path, Anna manoeuvres between a set of stalls selling vegetables and bread (stopping briefly to buy two sandwiches) and heads towards the only empty bench in the vicinity. It's facing their prized fountain with its statue of a peeing boy and a flying fish, but it's as good as any. A fair enough spot to watch the throngs of people at the other side of the fountain and to have a little picnic. It would be nice if the couple in the next bench over would stop slobbering over each other, though.

Taking a seat on the bench, she pats the space beside her. "Come sit. Let's take a break – I'm starving." Also because she knows Elsa hasn't eaten all day long, and a fainting Elsa is the last thing she wants to experience.

"Yes – I must admit I'm quite famished myself," Elsa says as she primly runs her hands down the length of her dress before sitting down. It doesn't escape Anna's notice that Elsa is taking in everything in her sight. Eyes darting from right to left, scanning faces.

Anna hands one of the sandwiches over – still in its wrapper. "Anything interesting?"

"Nothing alarming. And I hope it stays that way." Peeling the wrap off, Elsa gingerly lifts one corner of the sandwich up and peers at its contents, the corner of her lips forming into a grimace.

Anna ignores it. Whether she likes it or not, Elsa will eat her veggies.

"So," Anna says after her first bite. "Why the reindeer?" Despite being worded as an innocuous question, Anna knows it's anything but. Because the reindeer is now proper on Elsa's lap instead of being stashed away somewhere. She doesn't seem like the sentimental type, so it must be something important. Maybe symbolic, or a remembrance of her past life. "Or… is that counted as one of the three questions? In that case, I'll retract that question."

"It doesn't count, don't worry. I'll notify you if you've breached one of your free passes."

Anna makes a face, and Elsa smiles faintly. The open air has done them good.

With her free hand, Elsa lightly, absentmindedly strokes the reindeer on its wooden back. "I was friends with a reindeer, once upon a time. He was the royal ice master's companion – served tirelessly for more than a decade. When he died, we sent him away with a funeral worthy of kings. I suppose I like to remember the happier days, sometimes."

"Friends… with a reindeer?"

"He had good qualities. Not being able to speak, for one. A perfect listener."

Wow. Elsa must have been a really, really lonely person. Anna can't help but imagine Elsa talking to the reindeer, animatedly having a one-sided conversation about the weather and such. Did she have friends at all?

"Okaaaayyy…. What about the royal ice master, then? What kind of title is that?"

"Him, I would rather not talk about."

That's it. That line of questioning shut tight. But… did Anna not dream of a reindeer then? Maybe there's a connec—no; that's just too farfetched. Nothing but a coincidence. Still, she would like to know more about this royal ice master business. Sounds intriguing. But another day. Slow, take it slow, she reminds herself like a mantra.

She takes another bite, and through the corner of her eyes she sees Elsa follow suit. A small, dainty bite compared to hers.

"Guess I'm glad you have something to remember him by, then. What's his name?"

Elsa takes a moment to finish her bite, then says, "Sven. His name was Sven."

"Good name for a reindeer."

"Indeed."

The couple at the other bench has finally stopped gluing their faces together, but now they're locked into a tight embrace, swaying back and forth like a pendulum. Anna wants to throw her sandwich at them and tell them to get a room.

"So," she says.

"Yes?"

"Now that you've been outside the castle walls, how do you like Corona?" There's an easy topic. Safe and innocent. She's saving the hard hitting questions for sunset, after all. It's part of their deal.

"It's—" A horse whines loudly in the distance, interrupting Elsa. Anna spots a toppled cart and a harried man, but thankfully bystanders have begun helping him by collecting his stray wares. Good people, they are. Good people. Elsa waits until the commotion has died down and continues, "it's different than the last time I was here. More buildings; more people. It was not enclosed in walls, then."

Ah yes, the walls. Even from the middle of the city, it rises tall: grey and unsightly. Living long enough to see the city before the walls – it's beyond Anna's comprehension. "Yeah – it kinda went to hell during King Eugene and Queen Rapunzel's reign. The Great War. I think a few kingdoms disappeared then. Big ones, too. They had to build this wall to protect against invading armies – we were grand then. Imagine if it happens now." Anna chuckles darkly. It hits too close to her heart. "We'd be toast."

"I know," Elsa says. She, too, is surveying the wall. An ugly souvenir from an ugly past bound to repeat soon if Anna doesn't make the correct choices. "I was there. Before. During. After. Passed from hand to hand – clamoured for like a toy to greedy children."

Her answer stuns Anna in speechlessness and she grabs her sandwich a little tighter, appetite fleeing with each syllable Elsa's uttered. She can't—doesn't want to look at Elsa right now. She fears the expression she'll see. She fears the heartbreak she will suffer if she does. She repeats the promise she's told Elsa to herself: that she won't let it happen again. This will be the last. She doesn't say it out loud because it'll seem like empty words. She knows that Elsa will just smile and nod in a cordial disbelief. It seems pointless so, and so it stays within her.

"They're decent people, your citizens. They're people worth protecting" Elsa says, nonchalant.

"…yeah. They are." What is Elsa angling at?

"This is why I want you to know that if you had to choose between all of Corona and yourself, you should always choose the latter."

"What!" Her voice is loud enough that even the couple has taken a break from their romance and gives them a patronising stare. Conscious of her volume, Anna angles herself sideways towards Elsa and lowers her volume. What the hell is Elsa talking about? That's… that's outrageous. Is she seriously asking her to sacrifice her people in lieu of herself? "That's not—that's impossible, Els. There's no way I'm going to trade my life for thousands of theirs. Each one of their lives is worth mine – much less a thousand of them. You don't seriously—"

"But I do," Elsa replies without missing a beat. "I am not taking their lives lightly, believe me. But don't forget I'm yours. We're inextricably linked together. Have you forgotten the massacre I've committed in the name of kings and queens? I trust you enough to never slip into that route, but others are not quite as benign as you are. Take that into mind, Anna. It's a choice between two lesser evils. I want to imprint this into you now, while we still have the leisure to discuss this in depth."

The greater good. That's what Elsa is angling at. It's always the greater good, isn't it? The sandwich is forgotten, gathering dirt on the ground, but Anna doesn't care a whit. "I…" she falters, collects herself then tries again. "This is too heavy of a topic to spring on me, Elsa. It may never happen – making decisions about hypothetical situations isn't exactly my forte. I get where you're coming from, but… I can't. I just can't imagine doing that. Is this about the marriage proposal? Is that what've sprung this topic?"

"One of many, yes."

Anna stays silent. The reindeer perched on Elsa's lap now seems out of place in this ominous cloud. "Can we… talk about this another day? Please. Tomorrow. Let's just enjoy this evening."

"As you wish," Elsa says. She re-wraps her sandwich back into its tattered paper and bends to pick Anna's discarded one – carefully as not to topple the reindeer over – and places both sandwiches stacked on top of another beside her. It seems like both of them are no longer in the mood for food.

Anna motions at the reindeer. "Do you want to put it in my satchel? Just in case."

"Please," Elsa says.

She passes the reindeer and Anna takes it, placing it safely in the front compartment of her satchel. She closes the clasp and gives it a good pat over the bulge, just in case.

Elsa looks up into the sky. "It's sunset. Thank you for today, Anna. I enjoyed the city. It's very pleasant."

That's a lot of gratitude for something so simple. It's not like Anna minded. She needed the stretch and the fresh air anyway. "Anytime, Els. This isn't a favour, you know. You can ask to go out with you anytime you want. I had fun too, though you could probably learn how to haggle. It's a valuable skill to have."

"To me, it is. This is the first time in long time I've been able to enjoy a day like this without anything expected of me. I appreciate this. Thank you." And Elsa smiles. Warm. Genuine.

And that smile breaks Anna's heart in three. She has to place her hand on her stomach to calm the lurch, the sinking feeling. She feels like throwing up. Elsa never goes deep into the details of her past. A sentence here, an offhanded remark there. But every time she does, it hits hard. It feels like a punch to her stomach, a stab and a twist to her chest.

That's why the promise is so important to her. She repeats it once more, just to herself. It's no longer a promise between her and Elsa, but a promise to herself alone.

"Anytime," she finally musters. Her voice is almost a whisper. "We'll do this again soon, I promise."

Elsa doesn't address that promise. Instead, she says, "now it's my turn to fulfil my promise. Have you thought of your three questions yet?"

"Yes." Yes; she has.

**-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-**

**A/N: You know what sucks? Having to buy a ps4 just to replay Witcher 3 because your pc crapped out and your 43 hour save is gone.**

**You know what sucks more? Rare updates. And I swear it's not just because of Witcher 3.**

**And I realise that a few of you guys have been finding me on reddit and PMing me over there. If you feel the need to lodge any inquires please just message me on reddit. It's the same username and it's just easier via reddit. Do you know doesn't allow links? Yeah.**


	10. a world tumbled

**10.**

Anna drums her fingers on her knees. She's taking her time to rearrange her thoughts, to build a solid foundation for her questions. It's a once in a lifetime thing – Elsa's giving her this precious, precious opportunity to untangle her past, and she really doubts she will get a second chance at this. Not in this lifetime, most certainly.

Three questions. That's all she gets.

"Take you time, Anna," Elsa says. "I understand this is very important to you. I don't mind waiting, should you need more time to cherry-pick your questions."

"Yeah… nah. It's not that. It's just that. Well." Anna pauses. "I'm just running through them now, I guess. I'm kinda afraid I'd choose the wrong one because then I would've already wasted one. You're right about it being important though. Not just to me, but to us. Two-way street, remember? If we're stuck together for life, might as well get to know each other as best as we can."

"Stuck together for the duration of your life; not mine," is Elsa's reply to that. Gosh. What a downer. Way to rub one's mortality in. "And it's not a game of chess, Anna. There's no rigid rule to this."

"I'm starting to think that everything that has something to do with you is like chess, honestly." It's not like Anna's sulking, but it's just the truth. It's worse than chess. It's like being plopped down in the middle of a game of chess to replace a player, then being blindfolded, then having her arms tied up, then being told to follow rules that changes every time she moves a piece.

Elsa defining the rules upfront will be a huge boon. And it'll be very nice if that couple can politely drown in the fountain, too. Now they're—oh god; _tongue._ Where is it go—is that even _allowed_ in public? Think of the children! Someone! Oh good. They're finally packing up. Farewell and good riddance.

Anyway. Where is she?

Right. Rules.

"So yeah, it'll be nice if you can clarify some things. An example: if I ask a question that you absolutely refuse to answer, do I get another pass or is that it? One down, two to go?"

"No; I promised you I will answer each question to best of my ability. There will be no refusal on my part." Despite addressing Anna, Elsa isn't looking Anna's way. Instead she's staring right ahead, doing that thing where she takes every minute detail of her surroundings, seeing only what she can see. What is she so afraid of?

The sun is low in the sky and the crowd is starting to clear up. As much as Anna hates to admit it, Corona isn't what it once was. Nightfall is synonymous to danger now. Muggings. Robberies. Pick pockets. Small crimes still, but how long will it take before it escalates? More patrol routes? More pipe dreams.

"Okay then," Anna says. "What about giving me an extra question as a token of good-will?"

"No."

Oh well. It doesn't hurt to try. There's no more rule that Anna wants clarified. But like every unexpected good fortune, there's a slight foreboding that follows. What if she asks the wrong questions? What if she doesn't like the answer? What if this negatively impacts their already strenuous relationship?

What if.

But honestly, that's fine. Fear is much better still than ignorance, and she mentally fortifies herself to step over that precipice. One step closer to the edge.

She draws a long, deep breath, and Elsa takes it as a signal. She's giving Anna her full attention now, angling herself sideways, dress draped primly over her knees down to her ankles. Her wimple ripples in the gentle breeze. Anna wonders if she's afraid at all, baring her soul like this.

Anna stops her drumming and moves her body to mimic Elsa. Nervous as Elsa's gaze makes her, she wants to have the front seat to everything. Subtle facial cues, nervous tics, minute movements of Elsa's hands. Everything.

"Ready?" she asks.

"Always."

"All right. First question: who was this woman that I keep reminding you of?"

And is she the reason why you're so afraid of being near me? Of touching me? Because we happen to share the same name? Similar enough that you called me by _her_ name? Those are the questions she really wants to ask – but it's three too many. It's selfish that she's asking this question instead of a thousand other better ones, but she has to. It's been eating Anna alive ever since Elsa called her (not Anna's, _hers_) name on that day they first met. It's stupid and it's driven by partial jealousy, but Anna needs the answers like she needs air.

She needs to know.

As expected, Elsa takes her time to answer. Anna watches Elsa like a hawk. The parted lips, the soft, airy sigh, the downturned brows. How for a moment Elsa closes her eyes and swallows hard, like how Anna does when she's trying desperately to hold back tears.

And she regrets, regrets, regrets asking.

Elsa's smile takes a few seconds to form. "Starting with the hard questions, are we?"

Anna smiles back, but she knows they're both just putting on a show. Let's pretend this isn't hurting you. Let's pretend seeing you pretend isn't hurting me. "'course. Isn't that the point of this? Rather not waste a one in a lifetime opportunity like this eh?"

She throws in a chuckle, just for good measure. Might even slap her knee, but even theatrics has its limits.

"So?" she prods, ripping the bandage away.

"She's my sister." That's… unexpected. But she stays silent; waits for Elsa to gather her thoughts and continue. "I love her dearly."

The present tense doesn't escape Anna. She knows it's not a slip, because Elsa is a pedant for words: her sentences always so prepared, so precisely honed that it's impossible for it to be a mistake.

So she asks the obvious. It's another question, but she thinks Elsa doesn't mind anymore. They're past counting grains. "Is she… did she die?"

"She died on her twenty-fifth birthday."

"How long ago was this?"

"A long time."

"And you still love her."

"Always."

It's a long time to still love someone, even if that someone is your sister. A long, long time.

"It's a long time to love someone," Anna says. She's reiterating her thoughts, for a lack of anything better.

She knows she should show more sympathy, say something about how sorry she is, how she wishes it hadn't happened. How terribly sorry she is for bringing this up. She should say all that, but she won't. She can't.

Maybe she's not as nice of a person she thinks she is. Because she knows that the love Elsa felt—feels for that sister of hers called Anna isn't. Isn't the kind of love you should feel towards a sibling. It's perverted and unnatural and—and she's just a terrible person, isn't she?

She looks down at her hands, at the bracelet, and wonders exactly how much she resembles this long dead sister of Elsa's. "You didn't love her as a sister."

"No. Much more than that."

"Is that why you're so afraid of touching me?"

"You noticed."

"Yeah. Yeah I did."

Elsa's answers are that of a well-rehearsed speech. There's no pause, no stutter. It's as if she's mentally prepared herself for this, rehearsing this conversation with herself time and time again. There's an air of resignation. Anna realises that Elsa's preparing herself for whatever she imagines Anna will leash unto her.

What is she expecting? Anger? A tirade against the perverseness of loving your own blood and kin? An admonishment for dragging Anna into this thing she never wanted? How can you compete against a person whose qualities are forever captured in rose-stained glass? How can you compete against the bond created from being together since birth?

How can _she?_

And less resigned, more pleading, Elsa very timidly asks: "…do you find the thought of it perverse?"

_This,_ is Elsa. She realises she's seeing Elsa, the real Elsa for the first time. And beneath all those layers of ice, callousness, tender moments, murderous rampages, bad humour, what's left is just someone so _wrong_, so broken fixing it will be like bending brittle steel.

She's not sure she can.

"Yes," Anna says, looking away from her hands, meeting Elsa's (_downcast_) eyes. "But it's not my place to tell you what's right and what's wrong, is it?" Because she has a crush on a _woman, _out of all things. A woman still so dearly in love with her sister. Anna has no right; none at all. "I do have the right to tell you that I'm not her, though. No matter how you wish for it to be, I'm not her. I can't be. I'm my own person, Elsa. Us sharing the same name and the same physical traits don't mean anything. So _please_. Stop comparing us to one another. I'm not her. I will never be her."

When Elsa says her name, is it her or that woman she's calling to?

The bazaar is eerily quiet now. She can hear the distant sound of crickets, and the humdrum of carts being pulled and the distant neighs of horses. It's quiet, and lonely, and it feels like there are only her and Elsa in this world right now. Them and their messed up, tangled thoughts.

"I know that." And then Elsa utters the four most innocuous, hurtful words ever said to Anna: "you'll never replace her."

"I… see."

As best as Anna tries to hide it, Elsa must have seen her expression.

"Anna—"

Holding a hand up, Anna shakes her head. Stop. She just wants Elsa to stop before any more damage can be done. "No—it's fine. I get it. You're just doing what you promised you'd do. You're just answering the best you can and I appreciate the honesty. I really do." What does she expect? Elsa telling her that she's so over her dearly beloved sister? To stop seeing that phantom haunting her for god knows how long? It's another thing she adds to her list of why her crush will bear no fruition. She won't allow it to. She won't allow herself to just be a replacement for someone else. "You were right; there are right and wrong questions to ask, and I might have asked the wrong one."

"You're adamant at not allowing me to explain."

"Just like how I have the right to ask questions, I think I also have the right to refuse hearing the answer. Let's just—let's just leave this be."

A role reversal. That's what they're doing. It should be Elsa who's refusing to talk, but Anna's taking her mantle now, and she's starting to know why it's so hard to get Elsa to open up. Sometimes it's just hard. It might be easier to clamp up, suffer in silence than to hear words. Speak words. Because words can hurt just as much as a sword to the gut does.

What's the point? She's just a replacement. She'll never be the replacement. Same thing, different wording. What do motives matter? They're still stuck together until Anna dies. That's all there is to know.

"Anna, _please._"

Elsa tries to take her hand, get her attention, but Anna bats it away.

She regrets, regrets, regrets asking.

She's behaving like a sulky, petulant child. She wishes Elsa will just—shut up. Her stomach's doing wild tumbles and her heart's beating too fast, but it isn't because of that stupid, stupid crush. It's another matter entirely. She feels like she's mourning, she feels like cursing up a storm.

Why is it so _quiet?_

Her ears ring.

It's so quiet. Where are the crickets?

Elsa's trying. By god, she's trying. "Please; if you would just lis—"

Ringing. Her ears are ringing.

She looks down. Up. At her hands. At Elsa. The bolt. No blood. No blood. Elsa gags and sputters and she slumps forward, elbow on her knee, hand on her chest, blindly groping for the—she's coughing blood. First a spittle down her chin, then a full wheeze and there are splatters on the cobblestone, down her dress.

As Anna's mouth opens to form the first syllable of Elsa's name, a breeze and a sting stops her short. Reflexively, she cups her hand on the side of her throat and withdraws it. It's slick and red and she smears it between her index finger and her thumb. She's hearing the wheeze of Elsa's breathing and her own panting and her mind goes whiter than the jagged walls of ice shooting up, up, up around them.

Somewhere far away a man is shouting. Commotion. Sound of boots thumping. Running.

Her ears ring, and she looks up at the sky – a hole in wall. A beat. Two beats. Something is pounding on the wall and she casts a glance at Elsa, still slumped, still wheezing. High pitched, strangled, and it reminds Anna of the sound of the man whose larynx she'd crushed with the sole of her boot – when was that? The beach? She's not a killer. It was a necessity because he'd tried to—what happened after?

She met

Elsa? She met Elsa. Elsa Elsa. Elsa. "_Elsa!_"

It's as if Elsa's name is an incantation, because suddenly there's clarity, and the direness of their situation strikes her like hammer on anvil. She scrambles off the bench, drops to her knees in front of Elsa, hand trying to find the sword on her hip that isn't there. She's smearing blood everywhere. Hers. Elsa's. She doesn't care.

"Elsa, look at me. Look at _me! _Come on, get your hand—let me take a look… oh _god._" She has to wrench Elsa's hand away from the crossbow bolt protruding from her chest and it's so much worse than she thinks. It's missed Elsa's heart, but it's gone straight through the lungs and Elsa's—Elsa's trying to pull it out.

Like a poorly constructed automation, Elsa makes a clumsy attempt to grab the shaft. Over and over again. Miss. Catches air. Miss. She's too far gone and the shaft too slick for it to work. The image of a toddler playing with fire burns bright and Anna catches Elsa's wrists before she makes another attempt. She pins them down onto Elsa's sides, using the brunt of her shoulders and triceps to make them stay—because despite her wounds and her fluttering eyelids and delirious darting gaze, Elsa is _strong_.

More pounding. More voices.

It doesn't matter. None of it matters. The only thing that matters in Anna's world is _here_, coughing her lungs out. Bile rises up Anna's throat, and it takes everything in her to force it down—to not, to not break down into a pile of mess. She's seen injuries like this. It's not survivable. You suffocate from blood flooding your lungs and then—

—then you _die._

Her world is falling under her feet and THE GODDAMNED POUNDING WON'T STOP.

"_STOP!_ Stop this! Stop it… please…" One moment she's screaming, the next she's resting her forehead on Elsa's knee. The collar of her dress is damp. Her arms are tired from pinning Elsa's wrists.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

She focuses on the pounding. Tries to ignore the fact that Elsa isn't struggling anymore, or how the bracelet burns cold on her wrists—so cold she's afraid her hand is going to shatter into pieces.

Elsa's still. So very still.

She's afraid of looking up. Afraid that the last words she will be an argument… about what? Something so utterly inconsequential. So what if she's just a replacement? Why does it matter? She can still see Elsa, hear her talk, feel her. Being _just_ a replacement is still much, much better than a world where they can no longer argue, laugh, banter.

_THUD!_

And the sound of something cracking.

She shifts her head sideways and exhales. Her breath comes out white, fluttering up in a puff before dissipating. A crack is forming on the wall. The thin lines are spreading with each thud and pound, and she thinks: maybe I'll just stay here with Elsa.

And finally, she lifts her head and wills herself to _look_. Elsa appears as if she's sleeping. Long lashes, faint freckles, white breath. Thin. Slow. Irregular. Strained. A whistle for each breath. Gently letting go of Elsa's wrists, Anna reaches up and unties the wimple's knot and lets it flutter down to the ground as Elsa's hair comes loose in a flurry of locks. It reminds her of the avalanche she'd seen when she was a child, during that one freak winter in Corona. It's beautiful, Elsa's hair. Everything about her is beautiful.

"Hey, Els?"

Of course there's no reply. She doesn't expect Elsa to. Taking Elsa's hand in hers, she lifts it up to her cheek, taking in the warmth and the feel of Elsa against her.

Chunks of ice are falling from the wall. She ignores it.

She can stay like this forever. Snowflakes are starting to fall around them. Slowly. Gently. Drifting down and down. One lands on her nose, and she blows it away.

It's a bit like the dream she had, this bench and the ice surrounding them. It's like they're existing on a world of their own. It's dreamy and surreal and somewhat comforting, like she's been through this before. She'd like to see Elsa walking in the sun again, laughing. Talking. She'd like Elsa to call her name, just one more time.

"…Anna."

Elsa's voice is small and weak, but it feels like a jolt of lightning, and Anna snaps her gaze toward Elsa. Elsa's eyes are open. Something about her eyes stops Anna's cry of jubilation dead in her throat. There's something so very wrong with them. The pinprick pupils, the blue that's so light it's almost translucent.

The chill running down Anna's spine. She wants to say something, but a voice tells her to keep quiet. You don't want to wake the beast, it says. Run and hide. Run and hide.

White mist curling from her mouth, Elsa withdraws her hand and says: "run."

_and hide_

The ground rises up from under her in a tremor and Anna lets out an involuntary shriek. It's as if the ground has exploded upwards, and all she can see is white. Up down left right everywhere. She tries to turn, to call Elsa's name but she loses her footing and tumbles down, outstretched palms hitting the ground. It's frozen solid and she nearly splays forward, hands and knees skidding on ice.

Once again she tries to call out, say something, but then she realises that she's breathing _ice,_ and her body is screaming at her, telling her she's drowning. She gasps and hacks for air against the warning siren as the ground rises and rises and ice starts creeping up her arms, encasing it with thick, jagged ice up to her elbows.

She looks down at her hands, at the ripples forming into scales underneath. There are no feelings on her legs either. The only things she can feel are her lungs gasping for air and the frost starting to form on her eyebrows. She's seen this before. She knows what's happening. She looks down and to the right. Straight at Elsa. She can't see Elsa from the curtain of blizzard, but she knows Elsa's there, looking at her with that cold, calculating  
><em>(inhuman)<em>  
>gaze.<p>

She feels like she's drowning, but still, she manages a "don't you dare, Elsa. Don't. You. _Dare._"

But Elsa dares. Of course she does. First the elongated neck. Then the tail. Then the massive, massive head. Then the roar so loud and so deep Anna feels the rumble in her chest and the hair on her neck rising up, up, up.

She feels the dragon dipping – lowering itself into its hind legs like a predator about to pounce. The blizzard has dissipated and she gives Elsa one last, lingering look, then closes her eyes and bends her elbows out. She's assuming a stance akin to racing a horse, trying to flatten herself as much as possible.

She knows what's coming next.

There's silence, and then a jolt and—

And they burst out into the open. Ice rains around her and a chunk hits her square on the back, but only when the dragon roars for the second time does she open her eyes. The metallic smell of blood hits her first of all, then the sight. She opens her eyes just as the dragon flings something from its mouth with a powerful arc of its head. Following its trajectory, she sees half a man hit another, sending him tumbling down.

Half a man. Just the torso, arms and head.

She looks away. Tries to find Elsa, but her world's gone wonky from all the movements and the sudden brightness of the stars and the lamp posts. How many are there? It's like they're ants, swarming from all sides into the heart of the bazaar. Straight into her.

Where is Elsa?

She needs to—goddamnit! She's still immobile, limbs attached to the dragon like a horrible mutation fused together. Woman and beast. The dragon takes a swipe at a group of men and once again her world tumbles. Topsy-turvy. Elsa is—where is _she?!_

She needs to get off this dragon and go and rescue Elsa. Fight by her side. Anything. Anything besides _this,_ stuck like a useless puppet and its toy dragon. Through the corner of her eyes, she sees the shadow of a man inching closer, and closer. He's carrying a spear, held up high. He's going to throw it. He's going to throw it straight at her and there's nothing she can do. Once again she struggles, trying to pull her arms out from the ice. She pulls and pulls but they won't budge and her shoulders are starting to feel like fire.

As if emboldened, she sees several men joining the spear-wielder. They're drawn to blood and she's the wounded prey. That's what you get for conjuring a dragon so massive. Blindspots. While it's busy tearing limbs off men left and right, she's stuck here, just waiting for a spear straight at her heart.

Dodging a stray flick of tail, the man takes another step forward, and another. Until he's but a few feet away – just enough for his aim to hit true to its target.

And her arms still. Won't. Budge.

Out of any alternatives, she cranes her neck up, opens her mouth, and yells with all her might: "_Elsaaa!_"

And just like that, the man with the spear crumbles: a spike. Two. Three shoot from the ground, through him. The same thing happens to the men near him. They crumble like dominoes in a stack, one by one. All at once. Anna doesn't know.

All she knows is that Elsa's _there_, standing half-way across the bazaar. Gore streaks run down her dress and her hair is matted with dried blood, and the bolt that was in her chest is nowhere to be seen, just a big, dark stain where it used to be.

She looks like a monster conjured by nightmares, but Anna only feels relief upon her sight. Three questions. Three wishes. It's as if she's Anna's djinn, summoned by a near death plight.

"Elsa," Anna says, almost a whisper, a breath of relief. Then louder: "thank god! I thought—watch out!"

It's a futile warning. With a flick of the wrist, the man trying to sneak behind Elsa finds himself missing both arms and he falls, screaming and screaming and then silenced by a blade to the throat. Have they not learned? Have they not learned at all?

Poor, wretched fools.

There's no sympathy on Anna's side, no recoil at the carnage and the bloodshed. This she knows: they nearly killed someone so very dear to her, and so they deserve whatever is coming for them. It's so unlike her, so unlike the tender characteristic always likened to her father, but she realises something then. For Elsa, she will do anything. She will move mountains, worlds. Anything.

So free me. Let me go. Let me stand by your side and _fight_.

She wants to convey all that – tame the anger surging strong in her veins, but before she can, Elsa crumples onto the floor like a bad dream. The only thing holding her up is her blade wedged into a crack in the cobblestone. She's a wounded prey, and they're circling, seizing the opportunity like a pack of hyenas. It's a chance they won't let go and Anna finds herself shouting something like gibberish. She's all but forgotten—why should they bother? She's helpless, trapped like this. All that matters is the threat. Elsa.

"No no nonono _no!_" And Anna struggles like she's never done before. She struggles until she feels the strain in her neck muscles and there's no more strength in her arms, but she's not going to relent. "Let me go! Elsa! Let me go goddamnit you stupid—let me off this thing!"

Just like Anna, Elsa doesn't relent. She's still on the ground, still panting, and at that brief second before the first man descends his blade, she mouths a sentence Anna can't comprehend.

"What…"

And once again, her world tumbles. The dragon takes a lunge. Two three four five a dozen and just before they barrel into a house, they're up in the air.

She's abandoning Elsa.

She sees her city down below, getting smaller and smaller with each beat of the dragon's wings. She's abandoning Elsa.

Those words run through her mind again and again. Maybe she's just in shock, or maybe it's the headache taking over. The pounding in her head. The blurry vision. She's abandoning Elsa. Maybe it's just the adrenaline and the rage, but her right hand is free and ice shatters around her as she beats on the dragon over and over, knuckle against ice.

She punches until she hears a crack and feels something broken. Punches until her mind screams and her vision goes dark.


End file.
